After the quake blind willow, sleeping woman dance dance dance

Air Chrysalis
?” 
“Of course,” the Professor answered. 
“What did you think of it?” 
“It’s a very interesting story,” the Professor said. “Very evocative. Evocative of 
what, though, I’m not sure, to tell you the truth. I don’t know what the blind goat is 
supposed to mean, or the Little People, or the air chrysalis itself.” 
“Do you think the story is hinting at something that Eri actually experienced or 
witnessed in Sakigake?” 
“Maybe so, but I can’t tell how much is real and how much is fantasy. It seems like 
a kind of myth, or it could be read as an ingenious allegory.” 
“Eri told me the Little People actually exist,” Tengo said. 
A thoughtful frown crossed the Professor’s face when he heard this. He asked, “Do 
you think 
Air Chrysalis
describes things that actually happened?” 
Tengo shook his head. “All I’m trying to say is that every detail in the story is 
described very realistically, and that this is a great strength of the work as a piece of 
fiction.” 
“And by rewriting the story in your own words, with your own style, you are 
trying to put that 
something
the story is hinting at into a clearer form? Is that it?” 
“Yes, if all goes well.” 
“My specialty is cultural anthropology,” the Professor said. “I gave up being a 
scholar some time ago, but I’m still permeated with the spirit of the discipline. One 
aim of my field is to relativize the images possessed by individuals, discover in these 
images the factors universal to all human beings, and feed these universal truths back 
to those same individuals. As a result of this process, people might be able to belong 
to something even as they maintain their autonomy. Do you see what I’m saying?” 
“I think I do.” 
“Perhaps that same process is what is being demanded of you.” 
Tengo opened his hands on his knees. “Sounds difficult.” 
“But it’s probably worth a try.” 
“I’m not even sure I’m qualified to do it.” 
The Professor looked at Tengo. There was a special gleam in his eye now. 
“What I would like to know is what happened to Eri inside Sakigake. I’d also like 
to know the fate of Fukada and his wife. I’ve done my best over the past seven years 
to shed light on these questions, but I haven’t managed to grasp a single clue. I always 
come up against a thick, solid wall standing in my way. The key to unlock the 
mystery may be hidden in 
Air Chrysalis
. As long as there is such a possibility, 
however slim, I want to pursue it. I have no idea whether you are qualified to do the 

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job, but I do know that you think highly of the story and are deeply involved in it. 
Perhaps that is qualification enough.” 
“There is something I have to ask you, though, and I need to receive a clear yes or 
no from you,” Tengo said. “It’s what I came to see you about today. Do I have your 
permission to rewrite 
Air Chrysalis
?” 
The Professor nodded. Then he said, “I myself am looking forward to reading your 
rewrite, and I know that Eri seems to have a great deal of faith in you. She doesn’t 
have anyone else she can look to like that—aside from Azami and me, of course. So 
you ought to give it a try. We’ll put the work in your hands. In a word, the answer is 
yes.” 
When the Professor stopped speaking, a heavy silence settled over the room like a 
finalized destiny. At precisely that moment, Fuka-Eri came in with the tea. 
On the way back to the city, Tengo was alone. Fuka-Eri went out to walk the dog. The 
Professor called a cab that took Tengo to Futamatao Station in time for the next train. 
Tengo transferred to the Chuo Line at Tachikawa. 
When the train reached Mitaka, a mother and her little girl got on and sat across 
from Tengo. Both were neatly dressed. Their clothing was by no means expensive or 
new, but all items were clean and well cared for, the whites exceptionally white, and 
everything nicely ironed. The girl was probably a second or third grader, with large 
eyes and good features. The mother was quite thin. She wore her hair tied in a bun in 
back, had black-framed glasses, and carried a faded bag of thick cloth. The bag 
seemed to be crammed full of something. The mother’s features were also nicely 
symmetrical, but a hint of nervous exhaustion showed at her eyes’ outer edges, 
making her look older than she probably was. It was only mid-April, but she carried a 
parasol, on which the cloth was wrapped so tightly around the pole that it looked like 
a dried-out club. 
The two sat beside each other in unbroken silence. The mother looked as though 
she might be devising a plan. The girl seemed at a loss for something to do. She 
looked at her shoes, at the floor, at ads hanging from the train ceiling, and now and 
then she stole a glance at Tengo sitting opposite her. His large build and his 
cauliflower ears seemed to have aroused her interest. Little children often looked at 
Tengo that way, as if he were some kind of rare but harmless animal. The girl kept her 
body and head very still, allowing just her eyes to dart around from object to object. 
The mother and child left the train at Ogikubo. As the train was slowing to a stop, 
the mother rose quickly to her feet, parasol in her left hand and cloth bag in her right. 
She said nothing to the girl, who also quickly left her seat and followed her out of the 
car. As she was standing, though, the girl took one last look at Tengo. In her eyes, he 
saw a strange light, a kind of appeal or plea directed at him. It was only a faint, 
momentary gleam, but Tengo was able to catch it. She was sending out some kind of 
signal, he felt. Even if this were true, of course, and it was a signal meant for him, 
there was nothing he could do. He had no knowledge of her situation, nor could he 
become involved with her. The girl left the train with her mother at Ogikubo Station, 
and Tengo, still in his seat, continued on toward the next station. Three middle school 
students now sat where the girl had been sitting. They started jabbering about the 

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practice test they had just taken, but still there lingered in their place the after-image 
of the silent girl. 
The girl’s eyes reminded Tengo of another girl, one who had been in Tengo’s 
third- and fourth-grade classes. She, too, had looked at him—stared hard at him—
with eyes like this one … 
The girl’s parents had belonged to a religious organization called the Society of 
Witnesses. A Christian sect, the Witnesses preached the coming of the end of the 
world. They were fervent proselytizers and lived their lives by the Bible. They would 
not condone the transfusion of blood, for example. This greatly limited their chances 
of surviving serious injury in a traffic accident. Undergoing major surgery was 
virtually impossible for them. On the other hand, when the end of the world came, 
they could survive as God’s chosen people and live a thousand years in a world of 
ultimate happiness. 
Like the little girl on the train, the one whose parents were Witnesses also had big, 
beautiful eyes. Impressive eyes. Nice features. But her face always seemed to be 
covered by a kind of opaque membrane. It was meant to expunge her presence. She 
never spoke to people unless it was absolutely necessary. Her face never showed 
emotion. She kept her thin lips compressed in a perfectly straight line. 
Tengo first took an interest in the girl when he saw her out on weekends with her 
mother, doing missionary work. Children in Witness families were expected to begin 
accompanying their parents in missionary activity as soon as they were old enough to 
walk. From the time she was three, the girl walked from door to door, mostly with her 
mother, handing out pamphlets titled