After the quake blind willow, sleeping woman dance dance dance

CHAPTER 24 
Tengo 
LEAVING THE CAT TOWN 
Tengo’s father’s corpse was dressed in his neatly ironed NHK fee collector’s uniform 
and placed inside the simple coffin. Probably the cheapest coffin available, it was a 
sullen little casket that looked only slightly more sturdy than the boxes for castella 
cakes. The deceased was a small person, yet there was barely any room to spare. The 
casket was made of plywood, and had minimal ornamentation. “Is this casket all 
right?” the funeral director had asked, making sure. “It’s fine,” Tengo replied. This 
was the casket his father had chosen from the catalog, for which he had prepaid. If the 
deceased had no problem with it, then neither did Tengo. 
Dressed in his NHK uniform, lying in the crude coffin, his father didn’t look dead. 
He looked like he was taking a nap on a work break and would soon get up, put on his 
cap, and go out to collect the rest of the fees. The uniform, with the NHK logo sewed 
into it, looked like a second skin. He was born in this uniform and would leave this 
world in the same way as he went up in flames. When Tengo actually saw him in it, 
he couldn’t imagine his father wearing anything else. Just like Wagner’s warriors on 
their funeral pyre could only be dressed in armor. 
Tuesday morning, in front of Tengo and Kumi Adachi, the lid of the coffin was 
closed, nailed shut, then placed inside the hearse. It wasn’t much of a hearse, just the 
same businesslike Toyota van they had used to transport his body to the funeral home. 
This hearse, too, must have been the cheapest available. 
Stately
was the last word you 
would use to describe it. And there was certainly no 
Götterdämmerung
music as a 
send-off. But Tengo couldn’t find anything to complain about, and Kumi didn’t seem 
to have any problems with it either. What was more important was that a person had 
vanished from the face of the earth, and those left behind had to grasp what that 
entailed. The two of them got into a taxi and followed the black van. 
They left the seaside road, drove a short way into the hills, and arrived at the 
crematorium. It was a relatively new building but utterly devoid of individuality. It 
seemed less a crematorium than some sort of factory or government office building. 
The garden was lovely and well tended, though the tall chimney rising majestically 
into the sky hinted that this was a facility with a special mission. The crematorium 
must not have been very busy that day, since the casket was taken right away. The 
casket was gently laid inside the incinerator, then the heavy lid was shut, like a 
submarine hatch. The old man in charge, wearing gloves, turned and bowed to Tengo, 
then hit the ignition switch. Kumi turned to the closed lid and put her hands together 
in prayer, and Tengo followed suit. 

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During the hourlong cremation, Tengo and Kumi waited in the building’s lounge. 
Kumi bought two cans of hot coffee from the vending machine and they silently 
drank them as they sat side by side on a bench, facing a large picture window. Outside 
was a spacious lawn, dried up now in the winter, and leafless trees. Two black birds 
were on one of the branches. Tengo didn’t know what kind of bird they were. They 
had long tails, and though small, they gave loud, sharp squawks. When they called 
out, their tails stood on end. Above the trees was the broad, cloudless, blue winter 
sky. Beneath her cream-colored duffle coat, Kumi wore a short black dress. Tengo 
wore a black crew-neck sweater under a dark gray herringbone jacket. His shoes were 
dark brown loafers. It was the most formal outfit he owned. 
“My father was cremated here too,” Kumi said. “All the people who attended were 
smoking like crazy. There was a cloud of smoke hanging up near the ceiling. Maybe 
to be expected, since they were all fishermen.” 
Tengo pictured it. A gaggle of sunburned men, uncomfortable in their dark suits, 
puffing away, mourning a man who had died of lung cancer. Now, though, Tengo and 
Kumi were the only ones in the lounge. It was quiet all around. Other than an 
occasional chirp from the birds in the trees, nothing else broke the silence—no music, 
no voices. Peaceful sunlight poured in through the picture window and formed a 
taciturn puddle at their feet. Time was flowing leisurely, like a river approaching an 
estuary. 
“Thank you for coming with me,” Tengo said after the long silence. 
Kumi reached out and put her hand on top of his. “It’s hard doing it alone. Better 
to have somebody with you.” 
“You may be right,” Tengo admitted. 
“It’s a terrible thing when a person dies, whatever the circumstances. A hole opens 
up in the world, and we need to pay the proper respects. If we don’t, the hole will 
never be filled in again.” 
Tengo nodded. 
“The hole can’t be left open,” Kumi went on, “or somebody might fall in.” 
“But in some cases the dead person has secrets,” Tengo said. “And when the hole’s 
filled in, those secrets are never known.” 
“I think that’s necessary too.” 
“How come?” 
“Certain secrets can’t be left behind.” 
“Why not?” 
Kumi let go of his hand and looked at him right in the face. “There’s something 
about those secrets that only the deceased person can rightly understand. Something 
that can’t be explained, no matter how hard you try. They’re what the dead person has 
to take with him to his grave. Like a valuable piece of luggage.” 
Tengo silently looked down at the puddle of light at his feet. The linoleum floor 
shone dully. In front of him were his worn loafers and Kumi’s simple black pumps. 
They were right in front of him but looked miles away. 
“There must be things about you, too, Tengo, that you can’t explain to others?” 
“Could be,” Tengo replied. 
Kumi didn’t say anything, and crossed her slim black-stockinged legs. 
“You told me you died once before, didn’t you?” Tengo asked. 

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747
“Um. I did die once. On a lonely night when a cold rain was falling.” 
“Do you remember it?” 
“I think so. I’ve dreamt about it for a long time. A very realistic dream, always 
exactly the same. So I have to believe that it happened.” 
“Was it like reincarnation?” 
“Reincarnation?” 
“Where you’re reborn. Transmigration.” 
Kumi gave it some thought. “I wonder. Maybe it was. Or maybe it wasn’t.” 
“After you died, were you cremated like this?” 
Kumi shook her head. “I don’t remember that far, since that would be after I died. 
What I remember is the