After the quake blind willow, sleeping woman dance dance dance

And you’re already sitting in it
, Aomame thought 
without speaking the words. 
“You don’t have a date to meet anybody here, do you?” the woman asked. 
Instead of answering, Aomame studied the woman’s face. She guessed the woman 
was three or four years younger than herself. 
“Don’t worry, I’m not interested in 
that
,” the woman whispered, as if sharing a 
secret. “If that’s what you’re worried about. I prefer men, too. Like you.” 
“Like me?” 
“Well, isn’t that why you came here, to find a guy?” 
“Do I look like that?” 
The woman narrowed her eyes somewhat. “That much is obvious. It’s what this 
place is for. And I’m guessing that neither of us is a pro.” 
“Of course not,” Aomame said. 
“Hey, here’s an idea. Why don’t we team up? It’s probably easier for a man to 
approach two women than one. And we can relax more and sort of feel safer if we’re 
together instead of alone. We look so different, too—I’m more the womanly type, and 
you have that trim, boyish style—I’m sure we’re a good match.” 
Boyish
, Aomame thought. 
That’s the first time anyone’s ever called me that
. “Our 
taste in men might be different, though,” she said. “How’s that supposed to work if 
we’re a ‘team’?” 
The woman pursed her lips in thought. “True, now that you mention it. Taste in 
men, huh? Hmm. What kind do you like?” 
“Middle-aged if possible,” Aomame said. “I’m not that into young guys. I like ’em 
when they’re just starting to lose their hair.” 
“Wow. I get it. Middle-aged, huh? I like ’em young and lively and good-looking. 
I’m not much interested in middle-aged guys, but I’m willing to go along with you 
and give it a try. It’s all experience. Are middle-aged guys good? At sex, I mean.” 
“It depends on the guy,” Aomame said. 
“Of course,” the woman replied. Then she narrowed her eyes, as if verifying some 
kind of theory. “You can’t generalize about sex, of course, but if you were to say 
overall …” 
“They’re not bad. They eventually run out of steam, but while they’re at it they 
take their time. They don’t rush it. When they’re good, they can make you come a 
lot.
” 
The woman gave this some thought. “Hmm, I may be getting interested. Maybe I’ll 
try that out.” 
“You should!” 
“Say, have you ever tried four-way sex? You switch partners at some point.” 
“Never.” 
“I haven’t, either. Interested?” 
“Probably not,” Aomame said. “Uh, I don’t mind teaming up, but if we’re going to 
do stuff together, even temporarily, can you tell me a little more about yourself? 
Because we could be on completely different wavelengths.” 
“Good idea,” she said. “So, what do you want to know about me?” 
“Well, for one thing, what kind of work do you do?” 

---

127
The woman took a drink of her Tom Collins and set it down on the coaster. Then 
she dabbed at her lips with a paper napkin. Then she examined the lipstick stains on 
the napkin. 
“This is a pretty good drink,” she said. “It has a gin base, right?” 
“Gin and lemon juice and soda water.” 
“True, it’s no great invention, but it tastes pretty good.” 
“I’m glad.” 
“So, then, what kind of work do I do? That’s kind of tough. Even if I tell you the 
truth, you might not believe me.” 
“So I’ll go first,” Aomame said. “I’m an instructor at a sports club. I mostly teach 
martial arts. Also muscle stretching.” 
“Martial arts!” the woman exclaimed. “Like Bruce Lee kind of stuff?” 
“Kind of.” 
“Are you good at it?” 
“Okay.” 
The woman smiled and raised her glass as if in a toast. “So, in a pinch, we might 
be an unbeatable team. I might not look it, but I’ve been doing aikido for years. To 
tell you the truth, I’m a policewoman.” 
“A policewoman?!” Aomame’s mouth dropped open, but no further words emerged 
from it. 
“Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department. I don’t look the part, do I?” 
“Certainly not,” Aomame said. 
“It’s true, though. Absolutely. My name is Ayumi.” 
“I’m Aomame.” 
“Aomame. Is that your real name?” 
Aomame gave her a solemn nod. “A policewoman? You mean you wear a uniform 
and carry a gun and ride in a police car and patrol the streets?” 
“That’s what I’d 
like
to be doing. It’s what I joined the police force to do. But they 
won’t let me,” Ayumi said. She took a handful of pretzels from a nearby bowl and 
started munching them noisily. “I wear a ridiculous uniform, ride around in one of 
those mini patrol cars—basically, a motor scooter—and give parking tickets all day. 
They won’t let me carry a pistol, of course. There’s no need to fire warning shots at a 
local citizen who’s parked his Toyota Corolla in front of a fire hydrant. I got great 
marks at shooting practice, but nobody gives a damn about that. Just because I’m a 
woman, they’ve got me going around with a piece of chalk on a stick, writing the time 
and license plate numbers on the asphalt day after day” 
“Speaking of pistols, do you fire a Beretta semiautomatic?” 
“Sure. They’re all Berettas now. They’re a little too heavy for me. Fully loaded, 
they probably weigh close to a kilogram.” 
“The body of a Beretta alone weighs 850 grams,” Aomame said. 
Ayumi looked at Aomame like a pawnbroker assessing a wristwatch. “How do you 
know something like that?” she asked. 
“I’ve always had an interest in guns,” Aomame said. “Of course, I’ve never 
actually fired one.” 

---

128
“Oh, really?” Ayumi seemed convinced. “I’m really into shooting pistols. True, a 
Beretta is heavy, but it has less of a recoil than the older guns, so even a small woman 
can handle one with enough practice. The top guys don’t believe it, though. They’re 
convinced that a woman can’t handle a pistol. All the higher-ups in the department are 
male chauvinist fascists. I had super grades in nightstick techniques, too, at least as 
good as most of the men, but I got no recognition at all. The only thing I ever heard 
from them was filthy double entendres. ‘Say, you really know how to grab that 
nightstick. Let me know any time you want some extra practice.’ Stuff like that. Their 
brains are like a century and a half behind the times.” 
Ayumi took a pack of Virginia Slims from her shoulder bag, and with practiced 
movements eased a cigarette from the pack, put it between her lips, lit it with a slim 
gold lighter, and slowly exhaled the smoke toward the ceiling. 
“Whatever gave you the idea of becoming a police officer?” Aomame asked. 
“I never intended to,” Ayumi replied. “But I didn’t want to do ordinary office 
work, and I didn’t have any professional skills. That really limited my options. So in 
my senior year of college I took the Metropolitan Police employment exam. A lot of 
my relatives were cops—my father, my brother, one of my uncles. The police are a 
kind of nepotistic society, so it’s easier to get hired if you’re related to a policeman.” 
“The police family” 
“Exactly. Until I actually got into it, though, I had no idea how rife the place was 
with gender discrimination. Female officers are more or less second-class citizens in 
the police world. The only jobs they give you to do are handling traffic violations, 
shuffling papers at a desk, teaching safety education at elementary schools, or patting 
down female suspects: boooring! Meanwhile, guys who clearly have less ability than 
me are sent out to one interesting crime scene after another. The higher-ups talk about 
‘equal opportunity for the sexes,’ but it’s all a front, it just doesn’t work that way. It 
kills your desire to do a good job. You know what I mean?” 
Aomame said she understood. 
“It makes me so mad!” 
“Don’t you have a boyfriend or something?” Aomame asked. 
Ayumi frowned. For a while, she glared at the slim cigarette between her fingers. 
“It’s nearly impossible for a policewoman to have a boyfriend. You work irregular 
hours, so it’s hard to coordinate times with anyone who works a normal business 
week. And even if things do start to work out, the minute an ordinary guy hears 
you’re a cop, he just scoots away like a crab running from the surf. It’s awful, don’t 
you think?” 
Aomame said that she did think it was awful. 
“Which leaves a workplace romance as the only possibility—except there aren’t 
any decent men there. They’re all brain-dead jerks who can only tell dirty jokes. 
They’re either born stupid or they think of nothing else but their advancement. And 
these are the guys responsible for the safety of society! Japan does not have a bright 
future.” 
“Somebody as cute as you should be popular with the men, I would think,” 
Aomame said. 
“Well, I’m not exactly 
un
popular—as long as I don’t reveal my profession. So in 
places like this I just tell them I work for an insurance company.” 

---

129
“Do you come here often?” 
“Not ‘often.’ Once in a while,” Ayumi said. After a moment’s reflection, she said, 
as if revealing a secret, “Every now and then, I start craving sex. To put it bluntly, I 
want a man. You know, more or less periodically. So then I get all dolled up, put on 
fancy underwear, and come here. I find a suitable guy and we do it all night. That 
calms me down for a while. I’ve just got a healthy sex drive—I’m not a nympho or 
sex addict or anything, I’m okay once I work off the desire. It doesn’t last. The next 
day I’m hard at work again, handing out parking tickets. How about you?” 
Aomame picked up her Tom Collins glass and took a sip. “About the same, I 
guess.” 
“No boyfriend?” 
“I made up my mind not to have a boyfriend. I don’t want the bother.” 
“Having one man is a bother?” 
“Pretty much.” 
“But sometimes I want to do it so bad I can’t stand it,” Ayumi said. 
“That expression you used a minute ago, ‘Work off the desire,’ is more my speed.” 
“How about ‘Have an opulent evening’?” 
“That’s not bad, either,” Aomame said. 
“In any case, it should be a one-night stand, without any follow-up.” 
Aomame nodded. 
Elbow on the bar, Ayumi propped her chin on her hand and thought about this for 
a while. “We might have a lot in common,” she said. 
“Maybe so,” Aomame agreed.