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her. For some reason they no longer viewed Fuka-Eri as a threat to Sakigake. If you
accept that, though, then why go to the trouble of putting Tengo’s apartment under
surveillance?
Tengo used the pay phone at the cram school to call Komatsu’s office. It was Sunday,
but Tengo knew that he liked to come in and work on the weekend. The office could
be a nice place, he liked to say, if there was nobody else there. But no one answered.
Tengo glanced at his watch. It was eleven a.m., too early for Komatsu to show up at
work. He started his day, and it didn’t matter what day of the week it was, after the
sun had reached its zenith. Tengo, on
a chair in the cafeteria, sipped the weak coffee
and reread the letter from Fuka-Eri. As always she used hardly any kanji at all, and no
paragraphs or punctuation.
Tengo you are back from the cat town and are reading this letter that’s good but we’re
being
watched
so I
have to get out
of this place
right this minute
do not worry about
me but I can’t stay here any longer as I said before the person you are looking for is
within walking distance of here but be careful not to let somebody see you
Tengo read this telegram-like letter
again three times, then folded it and put it in
his pocket. As before, the more he read it, the more believable her words became. He
was being watched by someone. Now he accepted this as a certainty. He looked up
and scanned the cram school cafeteria. Class was in session so the cafeteria was
nearly deserted. A handful of students were there, studying textbooks or writing in
their notebooks. But he didn’t spot anyone in the shadows stealthily spying on him.
A basic question remained: If they weren’t watching Fuka-Eri, then why would
there be surveillance here? Were they
interested in Tengo himself, or was it his
apartment? Tengo considered this. This was all at the level of conjecture. Somehow,
he didn’t feel he was the object of their interest. His role in
Air Chrysalis
was long
past.
Fuka-Eri had barely taken a step out of his apartment, so her sense that she was
being
watched
meant that his apartment was under surveillance. But where could
somebody keep his place under watch? The area where he lived was a crowded urban
neighborhood, but Tengo’s third-floor apartment was, oddly enough, situated so that
it was almost out of anyone’s line of sight. That was one of
the reasons he liked the
place and had lived there so long. His older girlfriend had liked the apartment for the
same reason. “Putting aside how the place looks,” she often said, “it’s amazingly
tranquil. Much like the person who lives here.”
Just before the sun set each day, a large crow would fly over to his window. This
was the crow Fuka-Eri had talked about on the phone. It settled in the window box
and rubbed its large, jet-black wings against the glass. This was part of the crow’s
daily routine, to rest for a spell outside his apartment before homing back to its nest.
This crow seemed to be curious about the interior of Tengo’s apartment. The large,
inky eyes on either side of its
head shifted swiftly, gathering information through a
gap in the curtain. Crows are highly intelligent animals, and extremely curious. Fuka-
Eri claimed to be able to talk with this crow. Still, it was ridiculous to think that a
crow could be somebody’s tool to reconnoiter Tengo’s apartment.
656
So how were they watching him?
On the way home from the station Tengo stopped by a supermarket and bought some
vegetables, eggs, milk, and fish. Standing at the entrance to his building, paper bag in
hand, he glanced all around just to make sure. Nothing looked suspicious, the same
scene as always—the electric lines hanging in the air like dark entrails; the small front
yard, its lawn withered in the
winter cold; the rusty mailboxes. He listened carefully,
but all he could hear was the distinctive, incessant background noise of the city, like
the faint hum of wings.
He went into his apartment, put away the food, then went over to the window,
drew back the curtains, and inspected the scene outside. Across the road were three
old houses, two-story homes built on minuscule lots.
The owners were all long-term,
elderly residents, people with crabby expressions who loathed any kind of change, so
they weren’t about to welcome a newcomer to their second floor. Plus, even if
someone was on the second floor and leaned way out the window, all they would be
able to see was a glimpse of his ceiling.
Tengo closed the window, boiled water, and made coffee. As he sat at the dining
table and drank it, he considered every scenario he could think of. Someone nearby
was keeping him under watch. And Aomame was (or
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