After the quake blind willow, sleeping woman dance dance dance

had been
) within walking 
distance. Was there some connection between the two? Or was it all mere 
coincidence? He thought long and hard, but he couldn’t reach a conclusion. His 
thoughts went around and around, like a poor mouse stuck in an exitless maze 
allowed only to smell the cheese. 
He gave up thinking about it and glanced through the newspaper he had bought at 
the station kiosk. Ronald Reagan, just reelected president that fall, had taken to 
calling Prime Minister Yasuhiro Nakasone 
Yasu
, and Nakasone was calling him 
Ron
. 
It might have been the way the photo was taken, but the two of them looked like a 
couple of men in the construction industry discussing how they were going to switch 
to cheap, shoddy building material. Riots in India following the assassination of 
Indira Gandhi were still ongoing, with Sikhs being butchered throughout the country. 
In Japan there was an unprecedented bumper crop of apples. But nothing in the paper 
aroused Tengo’s interest. 
He waited until the clock showed two and then called Komatsu’s office once more. 
As always, it took twelve rings before Komatsu picked up. Tengo wasn’t sure why, 
but it always seemed hard for him to get to the phone. 
“Tengo, it’s been a while,” Komatsu said. His voice sounded like the old Komatsu. 
Smooth, a bit forced, difficult to pin down. 
“I took two weeks off from work and was in Chiba. I just got back last night.” 
“You said your father wasn’t doing so well. It must have been hard on you.” 
“Not really. He’s in a deep coma, so I just spent time with him, gazing at his 
sleeping face. The rest of the time I was at the inn, writing.” 
“Still, you’re talking about a life-or-death situation, so it couldn’t have been easy 
for you.” 

---

657
Tengo changed the subject. “When we talked last, quite a while ago, you 
mentioned having to talk with me about something.” 
“I remember,” Komatsu said. “I would like to have a nice long talk with you, if 
you’re free?” 
“If it’s something important, maybe the sooner the better?” 
“Yes, sooner is better.” 
“Tonight could work for me.” 
“That would be fine. I’m free tonight, too. Say, seven?” 
“Seven it is,” Tengo said. 
Komatsu told him to meet him in a small bar near his office, a place Tengo had 
been to a number of times. “It’s open on Sundays,” Komatsu added, “but there are 
hardly any people there then. So we can have a nice, quiet talk.” 
“Is this going to be a long story?” 
Komatsu thought about this. “I’m not sure. Until I actually tell it to you, I have no 
idea how long it will be.” 
“That’s all right. I’ll be happy to listen. Because we’re in the same boat together, 
right? Or have you changed to another?” 
“No, not at all,” Komatsu said, his tone more serious. “We’re still in the same boat. 
Anyway, I’ll see you at seven. I’ll tell you everything then.” 
After he hung up, Tengo sat down at his desk, switched on his word processor, and 
typed up the story he had written out in fountain pen at the inn in Chikura. As he 
reread the story, he pictured the town in his mind: the sanatorium, the faces of the 
three nurses; the wind from the sea rustling through the pine trees, the pure white 
seagulls floating up above. Tengo stood up, pulled back the curtains, opened the 
sliding glass door, and deeply inhaled the cold air.