After the quake blind willow, sleeping woman dance dance dance

point
of bullying is to 
make the person notice it’s being done to him or her. You can’t 
have
bullying without 
the victim noticing.” 

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72
Even as a child, Tengo had been big and strong, and people treated him with 
respect, which was probably why he was never bullied. But he had far more serious 
problems than mere bullying to deal with back then. 
“Were you ever bullied?” Tengo asked. 
“Never,” she declared, but then she seemed to hesitate. “I did 
do
some bullying, 
though.” 
“You were part of a group that did it?” 
“Yes, in the fifth grade. We got together and decided not to talk to one boy. I can’t 
remember why. There must have been a reason, but it probably wasn’t a very good 
one if I can’t even remember what it was. I still feel bad about it, though. I’m 
ashamed to think about it. I wonder why I went and did something like that. I have no 
idea what made me do it.” 
This reminded Tengo of a certain event, something from the distant past that he 
would recall now and then. Something he could never forget. But he decided not to 
mention it. It would have been a long story. And it was the kind of thing that loses the 
most important nuances when reduced to words. He had never told anyone about it, 
and he probably never would. 
“Finally,” his girlfriend said, “everybody feels safe belonging 
not
to the excluded 
minority but to the excluding majority. You think, 
Oh, I’m glad that’s not me
. It’s 
basically the same in all periods in all societies. If you belong to the majority, you can 
avoid thinking about lots of troubling things.” 
“And those troubling things are all you 
can
think about when you’re one of the 
few.” 
“That’s about the size of it,” she said mournfully. “But maybe, if you’re in a 
situation like that, you learn to think for yourself.” 
“Yes, but maybe what you end up thinking for yourself 
about
is all those troubling 
things.” 
“That’s another problem, I suppose.” 
“Better not think about it too seriously,” Tengo said. “I doubt it’ll turn out to be 
that terrible. I’m sure there must be a few kids in her class who know how to use their 
brains.” 
“I guess so,” she said, and then she spent some time alone with her thoughts. 
Holding the receiver against his ear, Tengo waited patiently for her to gather her 
thoughts together. 
“Thanks,” she said finally. “I feel a little better after talking to you.” She seemed to 
have found some answers. 
“I feel a little better too,” Tengo said. 
“Why’s that?” 
“Talking to you.” 
“See you next Friday,” she said. 
After hanging up, Tengo went out to the neighborhood supermarket. Returning home 
with a big bag of groceries, he wrapped the vegetables and fish in plastic and put them 
in the refrigerator. He was preparing dinner to the refrains of an FM music broadcast 
when the phone rang. Four phone calls in one day was a lot for Tengo. He could 

---

73
probably count the number of days that such a thing happened in any one year. This 
time it was Fuka-Eri. “About Sunday,” she said, without saying hello. 
He could hear car horns honking at the other end. A lot of drivers seemed to be 
angry about something. She was probably calling from a public phone on a busy 
street. 
“Yes,” he said, adding meat to the bones of her bare pronouncement. “Sunday 
morning—the day after tomorrow—I’ll be seeing you and meeting somebody else.” 
“Nine o’clock. Shinjuku Station. Front end of the train to Tachikawa,” she said, 
setting forth three facts in a row. 
“In other words, you want to meet on the outward-bound platform of the Chuo 
Line where the first car stops, right?” 
“Right.” 
“Where should I buy a ticket to?” 
“Anywhere.” 
“So I should just buy any ticket and adjust the fare where we get off,” he said, 
supplementing material to her words the way he was doing with 
Air Chrysalis
. “Does 
this mean we’re going pretty far from the city?” 
“What were you just doing,” she asked, ignoring his question. 
“Making dinner.” 
“Making what.” 
“Nothing special, just cooking for myself. Grilling a dried mackerel and grating a 
daikon radish. Making a miso soup with littlenecks and green onions to eat with tofu. 
Dousing cucumber slices and wakame seaweed with vinegar. Ending up with rice and 
nappa pickles. That’s all” 
“Sounds good.” 
“I wonder. Nothing special. Pretty much what I eat all the time,” Tengo said. 
Fuka-Eri kept silent. Long silences did not seem to bother her, but this was not the 
case for Tengo. 
“Oh yes,” he said, “I should tell you I started rewriting your 
Air Chrysalis
today. I 
know you haven’t given us your final permission, but there’s so little time, I’d better 
get started if we’re going to meet the deadline.” 
“Mr. Komatsu said so,” she asked, without a question mark. 
“Yes, he is the one who told me to get started.” 
“Are you and Mr. Komatsu close,” she asked. 
“Well, sort of,” Tengo answered. No one in this world could actually be “close” to 
Komatsu, Tengo guessed, but trying to explain this to Fuka-Eri would take too long. 
“Is the rewrite going well.” 
“So far, so good.” 
“That’s nice,” Fuka-Eri said. She seemed to mean it. It sounded to Tengo as if 
Fuka-Eri was happy in her own way to hear that the rewriting of her work was going 
well, but given her limited expression of emotion, she could not go so far as to openly 
suggest this. 
“I hope you’ll like what I’m doing,” he said. 
“Not worried.” 
“Why not?” Tengo asked. 

---

74
Fuka-Eri did not answer, lapsing into silence on her end. It seemed like a deliberate 
kind of silence, designed to make Tengo think, but try as he might, Tengo could come 
up with no explanation for why she should have such confidence in him. 
He spoke to break the silence. “You know, there’s something I’d like to ask you. 
Did you actually live in a commune-type place and take care of a goat? The 
descriptions are so realistic, I wanted to ask you if these things actually happened.” 
Fuka-Eri cleared her throat. “I don’t talk about the goat.” 
“That’s fine,” Tengo said. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I 
just thought I’d try asking. Don’t worry. For the author, the work is everything. No 
explanations needed. Let’s meet on Sunday. Is there anything I should be concerned 
about in meeting that person?” 
“What do you mean.” 
“Well … like I should dress properly, or bring a gift or something. You haven’t 
given me any hint what the person is like.” 
Fuka-Eri fell silent again, but this time it did not seem deliberate. She simply could 
not fathom the purpose of his question or what prompted him to ask it. His question 
hadn’t landed in any region of her consciousness. It seemed to have gone beyond the 
bounds of meaning, sucked into permanent nothingness like a lone planetary 
exploration rocket that has sailed beyond Pluto. 
“Never mind,” he said, giving up. “It’s not important.” It had been a mistake even 
to ask Fuka-Eri such a question. He supposed he could pick up a basket of fruit or 
something along the way. 
“Okay, then, see you at nine o’clock Sunday morning,” Tengo said. 
Fuka-Eri hesitated a few moments, and then hung up without saying anything, no 
“Good-bye,” no “See you Sunday,” no anything. There was just the click of the 
connection being cut. Perhaps she had nodded to Tengo before hanging up the 
receiver. Unfortunately, though, body language generally fails to have its intended 
effect on the phone. Tengo set down the receiver, took two deep breaths, switched the 
circuits of his brain to something more realistic, and continued with the preparations 
for his modest dinner. 

---

75