After the quake blind willow, sleeping woman dance dance dance

outward form
of the women’s gratitude. Without a doubt, you have done the right 
thing. But your act must not go uncompensated. Do you understand why?” 
“No, not really,” Aomame replied honestly. 
“Because you are neither an angel nor a god. I am quite aware that your actions 
have been prompted by your pure feelings, and I understand perfectly well that, for 
that very reason, you do not wish to receive money for what you have done. But pure, 
unadulterated feelings are dangerous in their own way. It is no easy feat for a flesh-
and-blood human being to go on living with such feelings. That is why it is necessary 

---

168
for you to fasten your feelings to the earth—firmly, like attaching an anchor to a 
balloon. The money is for that. To prevent you from feeling that you can do anything 
you want as long as it’s the right thing and your feelings are pure. Do you see now?” 
After thinking about it a while, Aomame nodded. “I don’t really understand it very 
well, but I’ll do as you say for now.” 
The dowager smiled and took a sip of her herbal tea. “Now, don’t do anything silly 
like putting it in your bank account. If the tax people found it, they’d have a great 
time wondering what it could be. Just put the cash in a safe-deposit box. It will come 
in handy sometime.” 
Aomame said that she would follow the dowager’s instructions. 
. . . 
Home from the club, she was preparing dinner when the phone rang. 
“Hi there, Aomame,” a woman’s voice said. A slightly husky voice. It was Ayumi. 
Pressing the receiver to her ear, Aomame reached out and lowered the gas flame as 
she spoke: “How’s police work these days?” 
“I’m handing out parking tickets like crazy. Everybody hates me. No men around, 
just good, hard work.” 
“Glad to hear it.” 
“What are 
you
doing now?” Ayumi asked. 
“Making supper.” 
“Are you free the day after tomorrow? At night, I mean.” 
“I’m free, but I’m not ready for another night like the last one. I need a break.” 
“Me, too,” Ayumi said. “I was just thinking I haven’t seen you for a while. I’d like 
to get together and talk, that’s all.” 
Aomame gave some thought to what Ayumi was suggesting, but she couldn’t 
make up her mind right away. 
“You know, you caught me in the middle of stir-frying,” she said. “I can’t stop 
now. Can you call me again in half an hour?” 
“Sure thing,” Ayumi said. “Half an hour it is.” 
Aomame hung up and finished stir-frying her vegetables. Then she made some 
miso soup with bean sprouts and had that with brown rice. She drank half a can of 
beer and poured the rest down the drain. She had washed the dishes and was resting 
on the sofa when Ayumi called again. 
“I thought it might be nice to have dinner together sometime,” she said. “I get tired 
of eating alone.” 
“Do you always eat alone?” 
“I live in a dormitory, with meals included, so I usually eat in a big, noisy crowd. 
Sometimes, though, I want to have a nice, quiet meal, maybe go someplace a little 
fancy. But not alone. You know what I mean?” 
“Of course I do,” Aomame said. 
“I just don’t have anybody—man or woman—to eat with at times like that. They 
all like to hang out in cheap bars. With 
you
, though, I thought just maybe, if you 
wouldn’t mind …” 

---

169
“No, I wouldn’t mind at all,” Aomame said. “Let’s do it. Let’s go have a fancy 
meal together. I haven’t done something like that for a long time.” 
“Really? I’m thrilled!” 
“You said the day after tomorrow is good for you?” 
“Right. I’m off duty the day after that. Do you know a nice place?” 
Aomame mentioned a certain French restaurant in the Nogizaka neighborhood. 
Ayumi gasped. “Are you kidding? It’s only the most famous French restaurant in 
the city. I read in a magazine it’s insanely expensive, and you have to wait two 
months for a reservation. That’s no place for anybody on 
my
salary!” 
“Don’t worry, the owner-chef is a member of my gym. I’m his personal trainer, 
and I kind of advise him on his menus’ nutritional values. If I ask him, I’m sure he’ll 
save us a table—and knock the bill way down, too. I can’t guarantee we’d get great 
seats, of course.” 
“I’d be happy to sit in a closet in that place,” Ayumi said. 
“You’d better wear your best dress,” Aomame advised her. 
When she had hung up, Aomame was somewhat shocked to realize that she had 
grown fond of the young policewoman. She hadn’t felt like this about anyone since 
Tamaki Otsuka died. And though the feelings were utterly different from what she 
had felt for Tamaki, this was the first time in a very long time that she would share a 
meal with a friend—or even 
want
to do such a thing. To add to which, this other 
person was a police officer! Aomame sighed. Life was so strange. 
Aomame wore a small white cardigan over a blue-gray short-sleeve dress, and she 
had on her Ferragamo heels. She added earrings and a narrow gold bracelet. Leaving 
her usual shoulder bag at home (along with the ice pick), she carried a small 
Bagagerie purse. Ayumi wore a simple black jacket by Comme des Garçons over a 
scoop-necked brown T-shirt, a flower-patterned flared skirt, the Gucci bag she carried 
before, small pearl pierced earrings, and brown low-heeled shoes. She looked far 
lovelier and more elegant than last time—and certainly not like a police officer. 
They met at the bar, sipped mimosas, and then were shown to their table, which 
turned out to be a rather good one. The chef stepped out of the kitchen for a chat with 
Aomame and noted that the wine would be on the house. 
“Sorry, it’s already been uncorked, and one tasting’s worth is gone. A customer 
complained about the taste yesterday and we gave him a new bottle, but in fact there 
is absolutely nothing wrong with this wine. The man is a famous politician who likes 
to think he’s a wine connoisseur, but he doesn’t know a damn thing about wine. He 
did it to show off. ‘I’m afraid this might have a slight edge,’ he says. We had to 
humor him. ‘Oh, yes, you may be right about that, sir. I’m sure the importer’s 
warehouse is at fault. I’ll bring another bottle right away. But bravo, sir! I don’t think 
another person in the country could have caught this!’ That was the best way to make 
everybody happy, as you can imagine. Now, I can’t say this too loudly, but we had to 
inflate the bill a little to cover our loss. He was on an expense account, after all. In 
any case, there’s no way a restaurant with our reputation could serve a returned 
bottle.” 
“Except to us, you mean.” 

---

170
The chef winked. “You don’t mind, do you?” 
“Of course not,” Aomame said. 
“Not at all,” Ayumi chimed in. 
“Is this lovely lady your younger sister, by any chance?” the chef asked Aomame. 
“Does she look it?” Aomame asked back. 
“I don’t see a physical resemblance, but there’s a certain atmosphere …” 
“She’s my friend,” Aomame said. “My police officer friend.” 
“Really?” He looked again at Ayumi with an expression of disbelief. “You mean, 
with a pistol and everything?” 
“I’ve never shot anyone,” Ayumi said. 
“I don’t think I said anything incriminating, did I?” 
Ayumi shook her head. “Not a thing.” 
The chef smiled and clasped his hands across his chest. “In any case, this is a 
highly respected Burgundy that we can serve to anyone with confidence. From a 
noble domain, a good year. I won’t say how many ten-thousand-yen bills we’d 
ordinarily have to charge for this one.” 
The chef withdrew and the waiter approached to pour their wine. Aomame and 
Ayumi toasted each other, the clink of their glasses a distant echo of heavenly bells. 
“Oh! I’ve never tasted such delicious wine before!” Ayumi said, her eyes narrowed 
after her first sip. “Who could possibly object to a wine like this?” 
“You can always find somebody to complain about anything,” Aomame said. 
The two women studied the menu. Ayumi went through every item twice with the 
sharp gaze of a smart lawyer reading a major contract: was she missing something 
important, a clever loophole? She mentally scrutinized all the provisos and 
stipulations and pondered their likely repercussions, carefully weighing profit and 
loss. 
Aomame enjoyed watching this spectacle from across the table. “Have you 
decided?” she asked. 
“Pretty much,” Ayumi said. 
“So, what are you going to order?” 
“I’ll have the mussels, the three-onion salad, and the Bordeaux-braised Iwate veal 
stew. How about you?” 
“I’d like the lentil soup, the warm spring green salad, and the parchment-baked 
monkfish with polenta. Not much of a match for a red wine, but it’s free, so I can’t 
complain.” 
“Mind sharing a little?” 
“Not at all,” Aomame said. “And if 
you
don’t mind, let’s share the deep-fried 
shrimp to start.” 
“Marvelous!” 
“If we’re through choosing, we’d better close the menus,” Aomame said. 
“Otherwise the waiter will never come.” 
“True,” Ayumi said, closing her menu with apparent regret and setting it on the 
table. The waiter came over immediately and took their order. 
“Whenever I finish ordering in a restaurant, I feel like I got the wrong thing,” 
Ayumi said when the waiter was gone. “How about you?” 

---

171
“Even if you 
do
order the wrong thing, it’s just food. It’s no big deal compared 
with mistakes in life.” 
“No, of course not,” Ayumi said. “But still, it’s important to me. It’s been that way 
ever since I was little. Always after I’ve ordered I start having regrets—‘Oh, if only I 
had ordered the fried shrimp instead of a hamburger!’ Have you always been so 
cool?” 
“Well, for various reasons, my family never ate out. Ever. As far back as I can 
remember, I never set foot in a restaurant, and I never had the experience until much 
later of choosing food from a menu and ordering what I wanted to eat. I just had to 
shut up and eat what I was served day after day. I wasn’t allowed to complain if the 
food was tasteless or if it didn’t fill me up or if I hated it. To tell you the truth, even 
now, I really don’t care what I eat, as long as it’s healthy” 
“Really? Can that be true? I don’t know much about your situation, but you sure 
don’t look it. To me, you look like somebody who’s been used to coming to places 
like this since you were little.” 
This Aomame owed entirely to the guidance of Tamaki Otsuka. How to behave in 
an elegant restaurant, how to choose your food without making a fool of yourself, 
how to order wine, how to request dessert, how to deal with your waiter, how to use 
your cutlery properly: Tamaki knew about all these things, and she taught them all in 
great detail to Aomame. She also taught Aomame how to choose her clothing, how to 
wear accessories, and how to use makeup. These were all new discoveries for 
Aomame. Tamaki grew up in an affluent Yamanote household. A socialite, her 
mother was exceedingly particular about manners and clothing, as a result of which 
Tamaki had internalized all that knowledge as early as her high school days. She 
could socialize comfortably with grown-ups. Aomame absorbed this knowledge 
voraciously; she would have been a far different person if she had never met an 
excellent teacher like Tamaki. She often felt that Tamaki was still alive and lurking 
inside of her. 
Ayumi seemed a little anxious at first, but each sip of wine relaxed her. 
“Uh, I want to ask you something,” Ayumi said. “You don’t have to answer if you 
don’t want to, but I just feel like asking. You won’t get mad, will you?” 
“No, I won’t get mad.” 
“It’s kind of a strange question, but I don’t have any ulterior motive in asking it. I 
want you to understand that. I’m just a curious person. But some people get really 
angry about these things.” 
“Don’t worry, I won’t get angry.” 
“Are you sure? That’s what everybody says, and then they blow up.” 
“I’m special, so don’t worry.” 
“Did you ever have the experience of having a man do funny things to you when 
you were little?” 
Aomame shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. Why?” 
“I just wanted to ask. If it never happened to you, fine,” Ayumi said. Then she 
changed the subject. “Tell me, have you ever had a lover? I mean, someone you were 
seriously involved with?” 
“Never.” 
“Not even once?” 

---

172
“Not even once,” Aomame said. Then, after some hesitation, she added, “To tell 
you the truth, I was a virgin until I turned twenty-six.” 
Ayumi was at a loss for words. She put down her knife and fork, dabbed at her 
mouth with her napkin, and stared at Aomame with narrowed eyes. 
“A beautiful woman like you? I can’t believe it.” 
“I just wasn’t interested.” 
“Not interested in men?” 
“I did have one person I fell in love with,” Aomame said. “It happened when I was 
ten. I held his hand.” 
“You fell in love with a boy when you were ten? That’s all?” 
“That’s all.” 
Ayumi picked up her knife and fork and seemed deep in thought as she sliced one 
of her shrimp. “So, where is the boy now? What’s he doing?” 
Aomame shook her head. “I don’t know. We were in the same third- and fourth-
grade classes in Ichikawa in Chiba, but I moved to a school in Tokyo in the fifth 
grade, and I never saw him again, never heard anything about him. All I know is that, 
if he’s still alive, he should be twenty-nine years old now. He’ll probably turn thirty 
this fall.” 
“Are you telling me you never thought about trying to find out where he is or what 
he’s doing? It wouldn’t be that hard, you know.” 
Aomame gave another firm shake of her head. “I never felt like taking the 
initiative to find out.” 
“That’s so strange. If it were me, I’d do everything I could to locate him. If you 
love him that much, you should track him down and tell him so to his face.” 
“I don’t want to do that,” Aomame said. “What I want is for the two of us to meet 
somewhere by chance one day, like, passing on the street, or getting on the same bus.” 
“Destiny. A chance encounter.” 
“More or less,” Aomame said, taking a sip of wine. “That’s when I’ll open up to 
him. ‘The only one I’ve ever loved in this life is you.’ ” 
“How romantic!” Ayumi said, astonished. “But the odds of a meeting like that are 
pretty low, I’d say. And besides, you haven’t seen him for twenty years. He might 
look completely different. You could pass him on the street and never know.” 
Aomame shook her head. “I’d know. His face might have changed, but I’d know 
him at a glance. I couldn’t miss him.” 
“How can you be so sure?” 
“I’m sure.” 
“So you go on waiting, believing that this chance encounter is bound to happen.” 
“Which is why I always pay attention when I walk down the street.” 
“Incredible,” Ayumi said. “But as much as you love him, you don’t mind having 
sex with other men—at least after you turned twenty-six.” 
Aomame thought about this for a moment. Then she said, “That’s all just in 
passing. It doesn’t last.” 
A short silence ensued, during which both women concentrated on their food. Then 
Ayumi said, “Sorry if this is getting too personal, but did something happen to you 
when you were twenty-six?” 

---

173
Aomame nodded. “Something did happen. And it changed me completely. But I 
can’t talk about it here and now. Sorry.” 
“That’s perfectly okay,” Ayumi said. “Did I put you in a bad mood asking all these 
questions?” 
“Not in the least,” Aomame said. 
The waiter brought the starters, and they ate for a while in silence. Their 
conversation picked up again after they had put their spoons down and the waiter 
cleared their bowls from the table. 
“Aren’t you afraid, though?” Ayumi asked Aomame. 
“Afraid of what?” 
“Don’t you see? You and he might never cross paths again. Of course, a chance 
meeting 
could
occur, and I hope it happens. I really do, for your sake. But realistically 
speaking, you have to see there’s a huge possibility you’ll never be able to meet him 
again. And even if you 
do
meet, he might already be married to somebody else. He 
might have two kids. Isn’t that so? And in that case, you may have to live the rest of 
your life alone, never being joined with the one person you love in all the world. 
Don’t you find that scary?” 
Aomame stared at the red wine in her glass. “Maybe I do,” she said. “But at least I 
have
someone I love.” 
“Even if he never loved you?” 
“If you can love someone with your whole heart, even one person, then there’s 
salvation in life. Even if you can’t get together with that person.” 
Ayumi thought this over for a while. The waiter approached and refilled their 
wineglasses. Taking a sip, Aomame thought,