After the quake blind willow, sleeping woman dance dance dance

CHAPTER 15 
Aomame 
TIME NOW FOR GHOSTS 
Aomame took a spare blanket from the closet and laid it over the man’s big body. 
Then she placed a finger on the back of his neck again and confirmed that his pulse 
had completely stopped. This man they called “Leader” had already moved on to 
another world. What kind of world that was, she could not be sure, but it was 
definitely not 1Q84. In this world, he had now become what would be called “the 
deceased.” The man had crossed the divide that separates life and death, and he had 
done so without making the slightest sound, with just a momentary shiver, as if he had 
felt a chill. Nor had he shed a drop of blood. Now he had been released from all 
suffering, lying silent and dead, facedown on the blue yoga mat. As always, her work 
had been swift and precise. 
She placed the cork on the needle and returned the ice pick to the hard case. This 
went into the gym bag. She took the Heckler & Koch from the vinyl pouch and 
slipped it under the waistband of her sweatpants, safety released and bullet in the 
chamber. The hard metal against her backbone reassured her. Stepping over to the 
window, she pulled the thick curtain closed and made the room dark again. 
She picked up the gym bag and headed for the door. With her hand on the knob, 
she turned for one last look at the large man lying in the dark room. He appeared only 
to be sound asleep, as he had when she first saw him. Aomame herself was the only 
person in the world who knew that he was no longer alive. No, the Little People 
probably knew, which was why they had stopped the thunder. They knew it would be 
useless to go on sending such warnings. The life of their chosen agent had come to an 
end. 
Aomame opened the door and stepped into the bright room, averting her eyes from 
the glare. She closed the door soundlessly. Buzzcut was sitting on the sofa, drinking 
coffee. On the table was a coffeepot and a large room service tray holding a stack of 
sandwiches. The sandwiches were half gone. Two unused coffee cups stood nearby. 
Ponytail was sitting in a rococo chair beside the door, his back straight, as he had 
been earlier. It seemed as though both men had spent the whole time in the same 
position, saying nothing. Such was the reserved atmosphere that pervaded the room. 
When Aomame came in, Buzzcut set his coffee cup onto its saucer and quietly 
stood up. 
“I’m through,” Aomame said. “He’s asleep now. It took quite a while. I think it 
was hard on his muscles. You should let him get some sleep.” 
“He’s sleeping?” 

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“Very soundly,” Aomame said. 
Buzzcut looked Aomame straight in the face. He peered deep into her eyes. Then 
he slowly moved his gaze down to her toes and back again, as if to inspect for 
possible irregularities. 
“Is that normal?” 
“Many people react that way, falling into a deep sleep after they have been 
released from extreme muscular stress. It is not unusual.” 
Buzzcut walked over to the bedroom door, quietly turned the knob, and opened the 
door just enough to peer inside. Aomame rested her right hand on the waist of her 
sweatpants so that she could take the pistol out as soon as anything happened. The 
man spent some ten seconds observing the situation in the bedroom, then finally drew 
his face back and closed the door. 
“How long do you think he will sleep?” he asked Aomame. “We can’t just leave 
him lying on the floor like that forever.” 
“He should wake up in two hours or so. It would be best to leave him in that 
position until then.” 
Buzzcut checked his watch and gave Aomame a slight nod. 
“I see. We’ll leave him like that for a while,” Buzzcut said. “Would you like to 
take a shower?” 
“I don’t need to shower, but let me change my clothes again.” 
“Of course. Please use the powder room.” 
Aomame would have preferred not to change her clothes and to get out of there as 
quickly as possible, but she had to be sure not to arouse their suspicions. She had 
changed clothes when she arrived, so she must change her clothes on her way out. She 
went into the bathroom and took off her sweat suit and her sweat-soaked underwear, 
dried her body with a bath towel, and put on fresh underwear and her original cotton 
pants and blouse. She shoved the pistol under her belt so that it would not be visible 
from the outside. She tested various movements of her body to make sure that they 
would not appear unnatural. She washed her face with soap and water and brushed her 
hair. Facing the large mirror over the sink, she twisted her face into every scowl she 
could think of in order to relax any facial muscles that had stiffened from tension. 
After continuing that for a while, she returned her face to normal. After such 
prolonged frowning, it took her some moments to recall what her normal face even 
looked like, but after several attempts she was able to settle on a reasonable facsimile. 
She glared into the mirror, studying her face in detail.