After the quake blind willow, sleeping woman dance dance dance

everything
. You wouldn’t believe it. It was like a porno movie. You and I played 
lesbians. And then—” 
Aomame rushed to cut her off. “Never mind all that. I just want to know if I was 
using condoms. That’s what worries me. I can’t remember.” 
“Of course you were. I’m very strict about that. I made absolutely sure, so don’t 
worry. I mean, when I’m not writing tickets I go around to high schools in the ward, 
holding assemblies for the girls and teaching them, like, the right way to put on 
condoms. I give very detailed instructions.” 
“The right way to put on condoms?” Aomame was shocked. “What is a 
policewoman doing teaching stuff like that to high school kids?” 
“Well, the original idea was for me to give information to prevent sex crimes, like 
the danger of date rape or what to do about gropers on the subway, but I figure as long 
as I’m at it, I can add my own personal message about condoms. A certain amount of 
student sex is unavoidable, so I tell them to make sure they avoid pregnancy and 
venereal disease. I can’t say it quite that directly, of course, with their teachers in the 

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room. Anyhow, it’s like professional instinct with me. No matter how much I’ve been 
drinking, I never forget. So you don’t have to worry. You’re clean. ‘No condom, no 
penetration.’ That’s my motto.” 
“Thank you,” Aomame said. “That’s a huge relief.” 
“Hey, want to hear about all the stuff we did?” 
“Maybe later,” Aomame said, expelling the congealed air that had been sitting in 
her lungs. “I’ll let you tell me the juicy details some other time. If you did it now, my 
head would split in two.” 
“Okay, I get it. Next time I see you, then,” Ayumi said brightly. “You know, ever 
since I woke up I’ve been thinking what a great team we can make. Mind if I call you 
again? When I get in the mood for another night like last night, I mean.” 
“Sure,” Aomame said. 
“Oh, great.” 
“Thanks for the call.” 
“Take care of yourself,” Ayumi said, and hung up. 
Her brain was much clearer by two o’clock, thanks to the black coffee and a nap. Her 
headache was gone, too, thankfully. All that was left of her hangover was a slight 
heavy feeling in her muscles. She left the apartment carrying her gym bag—without 
the special ice pick, of course, just a change of clothes and a towel. Tamaru met her at 
the front door as usual. 
He showed her to a long, narrow sunroom. A large open window faced the garden, 
but it was covered by a lace curtain for privacy. A row of potted plants stood on the 
windowsill. Tranquil baroque music played from a small ceiling speaker—a sonata 
for recorder and harpsichord. In the middle of the room stood a massage table. The 
dowager was already lying facedown on top of it, wearing a white robe. 
When Tamaru left the room, Aomame changed into looser clothing. The dowager 
turned her head to watch Aomame change from her perch on the massage table. 
Aomame was not concerned about being seen naked by a member of the same sex. It 
was an everyday occurrence for team athletes, and the dowager herself was nearly 
naked during a massage, which made checking the condition of her muscles that 
much easier. Aomame took off her cotton pants and blouse, putting on a matching 
jersey top and bottom. She folded her street clothing and set them down in a corner. 
“You’re so firm and well toned,” the dowager said. Sitting up, she took off her 
robe, leaving only thin silk on top and bottom. 
“Thank you,” Aomame said. 
“I used to be built like you.” 
“I can tell that,” Aomame said. Even now, in her seventies, the dowager retained 
physical traces of youth. Her body shape had not disintegrated, and even her breasts 
had a degree of firmness. Moderate eating and daily exercise had preserved her 
natural beauty. Aomame guessed that this had been supplemented with a touch of 
plastic surgery—some periodic wrinkle removal, and some lifting around the eyes and 
mouth. 
“Your body is still quite lovely,” Aomame said. 
The dowager’s lips curled slightly. “Thank you, but it’s nothing like it used to be.” 

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Aomame did not reply to this. 
“I gained great pleasure from my body back then. I 
gave
great pleasure with it, too, 
if you know what I mean.” 
“I do,” Aomame said. 
“And are you enjoying yours?” 
“Now and then,” Aomame said. 
“Now and then may not be enough,” the dowager said, lying facedown again. 
“You have to enjoy it while you’re still young. Enjoy it to the fullest. You can use the 
memories of what you did to warm your body after you get old and can’t do it 
anymore.” 
Aomame recalled the night before. Her anus still retained a slight feeling of having 
been penetrated. Would memories of this actually warm her body in old age? 
Aomame placed her hands on the dowager’s body and concentrated on stretching 
one set of muscles after another. Now the earlier remaining dullness in her own body 
was gone. Once she had changed her clothes and touched the dowager’s flesh, her 
nerves had sharpened into clarity. 
Aomame’s fingers traced the dowager’s muscles as though following roads on a 
map. She remembered in detail the degree of each muscle’s tension and stiffness and 
resistance the way a pianist memorizes a long score. In matters concerning the body, 
Aomame possessed minute powers of memory. And if she should forget, her fingers 
remembered. If a muscle felt the slightest bit different than usual, she would stimulate 
it from various angles using varying degrees of strength, checking to see what kind of 
response she got from it, whether pain or pleasure or numbness. She would not simply 
loosen the knots in a pulled muscle but direct the dowager to move it using her own 
strength. Of course there were parts of the body that could not be relieved merely by 
her own strength, and for those parts, Aomame concentrated on stretching. What 
muscles most appreciated and welcomed, however, was daily self-help efforts. 
“Does this hurt?” Aomame asked. The dowager’s groin muscles were far stiffer 
than usual—nastily so. Placing her hand in the hollow of the dowager’s pelvis, 
Aomame very slightly bent her thigh at a special angle. 
“A 
lot
,” the dowager said, grimacing. 
“Good,” Aomame said. “It’s good that you feel pain. If it stopped hurting, you’d 
have something seriously wrong with you. This is going to hurt a little more. Can you 
stand it?” 
“Yes, of course,” the dowager said. There was no need to ask her each time. She 
could tolerate a great deal of pain. Most of the time, she bore it in silence. She might 
grimace but she would never cry out. Aomame had often made big, strong men cry 
out in pain from her massages. She had to admire the dowager’s strength of will. 
Setting her right elbow against the dowager like a fulcrum, Aomame bent her thigh 
still farther. The joint moved with a dull snap. The dowager gasped, but she made no 
sound with her voice. 
“That should do it for you,” Aomame said. “You’ll feel a lot better.” 
The dowager released a great sigh. Sweat glistened on her forehead. “Thank you,” 
she murmured. 
Aomame spent a full hour unknotting muscles all over the dowager’s body, 
stimulating them, stretching them, and loosening joints. The process involved a good 

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deal of pain, but without such pain nothing would be resolved. Both Aomame and the 
dowager knew this perfectly well, and so they spent the hour almost wordlessly. The 
recorder sonata ended at some point, and the CD player fell silent. All that could be 
heard was the calls of birds in the garden. 
“My whole body feels so light now!” the dowager said after some time had passed. 
She was slumped facedown on the massage table, the large towel spread beneath her 
dark with sweat. 
“I’m glad,” Aomame said. 
“It’s such a help to have you with me! I’d hate for you to leave.” 
“Don’t worry, I have no plans to go anywhere just yet.” 
The dowager seemed to hesitate for a moment, and only after a brief silence she 
asked, “I don’t mean to get too personal, but do you have someone you’re in love 
with?” 
“I do,” Aomame said. 
“I’m glad to hear that.” 
“Unfortunately, though, he’s not in love with me.” 
“This may be an odd thing to ask, but why do you think he doesn’t love you? 
Objectively speaking, I think you are a fascinating young woman.” 
“He doesn’t even know I exist.” 
The dowager took a few minutes to think about what Aomame had said. 
“Don’t you have any desire to convey to him the fact that you 
do
exist?” 
“Not at this point,” Aomame said. 
“Is there something standing in the way—something preventing you from taking 
the initiative?” 
“There are a few things, most of which have to do with my own feelings.” 
The dowager looked at Aomame with apparent admiration. “I’ve met lots of odd 
people in my lifetime, but you may be one of the oddest.” 
Aomame relaxed the muscles around her mouth somewhat. “There’s nothing odd 
about me. I’m just honest about my own feelings.” 
“You mean that once you’ve decided on a rule, you follow it?” 
“That’s it.” 
“So you’re a little stubborn, and you tend to be short-tempered.” 
“That may be true.” 
“But last night you went kind of wild.” 
Aomame blushed. “How do you know that?” 
“Looking at your skin. And I can smell it. Your body still has traces of it. Getting 
old teaches you a lot.” 
Aomame frowned momentarily. “I need that kind of thing. Now and then. I know 
it’s nothing to brag about.” 
The dowager reached out and gently placed her hand on Aomame’s. 
“Of course you need that kind of thing once in a while. Don’t worry, I’m not 
blaming you. It’s just that I feel you ought to have a more