After the quake blind willow, sleeping woman dance dance dance

Air Chrysalis
. Kumi Adachi had no idea 
that he was the one who had really written the book. Not that it mattered—what did 
matter was that while he had written such a detailed description of the air chrysalis, 
Tengo knew next to nothing about it. What 
was
an air chrysalis? And what did 
maza
and 
dohta
signify? He had no idea what they meant when he wrote 
Air Chrysalis
, and 
he still didn’t. Still, Kumi liked the book and had read it three times. How could such 
a thing be possible? 
Kumi came back out as the show was discussing the dining-car menu. She plunked 
down on the love seat next to Tengo. It was so narrow their shoulders touched. She 
had changed into an oversized long-sleeved shirt and faded cotton pants. The shirt had 
a large smiley face on it. The last time Tengo had seen a smiley face was the 
beginning of the 1970s, back when Grand Funk Railroad rattled the jukeboxes with 
their crazy loud songs. But the shirt didn’t look that old. Somewhere, were people still 
manufacturing smiley-face shirts? 
Kumi took a fresh beer from the fridge, loudly popped it open, poured it in her 
glass, and chugged down a third of it. She narrowed her eyes like a satisfied cat and 
pointed at the TV screen. In between red cliffs the train was traveling down an 
endlessly straight line. 
“Where is this?” 
“Australia,” Tengo said. 
“Australia,” Kumi Adachi said, as if searching the recesses of memory. “The 
Australia in the Southern Hemisphere?” 
“Right. The Australia with the kangaroos.” 
“I have a friend who went to Australia,” Kumi said, scratching next to her eye. “It 
was right during the kangaroo mating season. He went to one town and the kangaroos 
were doing it all over the place. In the parks, in the streets. Everywhere.” 
Tengo thought he should make a comment, but he couldn’t think of anything. 
Instead he took the remote and turned off the TV. With the TV off, the room suddenly 
grew still. The sound of the TV next door, too, was gone. The occasional car would 
pass by on the road outside, but other than that it was a quiet night. If you listened 
carefully, though, there was a muffled, far-off sound. It was steady and rhythmic, but 
Tengo had no idea what it was. It would stop for a time, then start up again. 
“It’s an owl,” the nurse explained. “He lives in the woods nearby. He hoots at 
night.” 
“An owl,” Tengo repeated vaguely. 
Kumi rested her head on his shoulder and held his hand. Her hair tickled his neck. 
The love seat was still uncomfortable. The owl continued hooting knowingly off in 
the woods. That voice sounded encouraging to Tengo, but at the same time like a 
warning. Or maybe a warning that contained a note of encouragement. It was a very 
ambiguous sound. 
“Tell me, do you think I’m too forward?” Kumi Adachi asked. 
Tengo didn’t reply. “Don’t you have a boyfriend?” 

---

601
“That’s a perplexing question,” she said, indeed looking a bit perplexed. “Most of 
the smart young men head off to Tokyo as soon as they graduate from high school. 
There are no good colleges here, and not enough decent jobs, either. They have no 
other choice.” 
“But you’re here.” 
“Yes. Considering the lousy pay they give us, the work is pretty hard. But I kind of 
like living here. The problem is finding a boyfriend. I’m open to it if I find someone, 
but there aren’t so many chances.” 
The hands of the clock on the wall pointed to just before eleven. If he didn’t go 
back to the inn by the eleven o’clock curfew, he wouldn’t be able to get in. But Tengo 
couldn’t rouse himself from the cramped love seat. His body just wouldn’t listen. 
Maybe it was the shape of the chair, or maybe he was drunker than he thought. He 
listened vaguely to the owl’s hooting, felt Kumi’s hair tickle his neck, and gazed at 
the faux Tiffany lamp. 
Kumi Adachi whistled cheerfully as she prepared the hashish. She used a safety razor 
to slice thin slices off a black ball of hash, stuffed the shavings into a small, flat pipe, 
and then, with a serious look on her face, lit a match. A unique, sweetly smoky smell 
soon filled the room. Kumi took the first hit. She inhaled deeply, held it in her lungs 
for a long time, then slowly exhaled. She motioned to Tengo to do the same. Tengo 
took the pipe and followed her example. He tried to hold the smoke in his lungs as 
long as possible, and then let it out ever so slowly. 
They leisurely passed the pipe back and forth, never exchanging a word. The 
neighbor next door switched on his TV and they could hear the comedy show again. 
The volume was a bit louder than before. The happy laughter of the studio audience 
swelled up, the laughter only stopping during the commercials. 
They took turns smoking for about five minutes, but nothing happened. The world 
around Tengo was unchanged—colors, shapes, and smells were the same as before. 
The owl kept on hooting in the woods, Kumi Adachi’s hair on his neck still itched. 
The two-person love seat remained uncomfortable. The second hand on the clock 
ticked away at the same speed and the people on TV kept on laughing out loud when 
someone said something funny, the kind of laugh that you could laugh forever but 
never end up happy. 
“Nothing’s happening,” Tengo said. “Maybe it doesn’t work on me.” 
Kumi lightly tapped his knee twice. “Don’t worry. It takes time.” 
And she was right. Finally it hit him. He heard a click, like a secret switch being 
turned on, and then something inside his head sloshed thickly. It felt like tipping a 
bowl of rice porridge sideways.