After the quake blind willow, sleeping woman dance dance dance

Air Chrysalis
, 
that you’d take care of everything else after that, that I could just sit on the sidelines 
and watch the rest of the game?” 
“Look, I’d gladly do it if I could. I’m not crazy about asking people to do things 
for me, but that’s exactly what I’m doing now, pleading with you to do this job 
because I can’t do it. Don’t you see? It’s as if we’re in a boat shooting the rapids. I’ve 
got my hands full steering the rudder, so I’m letting you take the oar. If you tell me 
you can’t do it, the boat’s going to capsize and we all might go under, including Fuka-
Eri. You don’t want that to happen, do you?” 
Tengo sighed again. Why did he always get himself backed into a corner where he 
couldn’t refuse? “Okay, I’ll do my best. But I can’t promise it’s going to work.” 
“That’s all I’m asking,” Komatsu said. “I’ll owe you big for this. I mean, Fuka-Eri 
seems to have made up her mind not to talk to anyone but you. And there’s one more 
thing. You and I have to set up a new company.” 
“A company?” 
“Company, office, firm—call it anything you like. To handle Fuka-Eri’s literary 
activities. A paper company, of course. Officially, Fuka-Eri will be paid by the 

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company. We’ll have Professor Ebisuno be her representative and you’ll be a 
company employee. We can make up some kind of title for you, it doesn’t matter, but 
the main thing is the company will pay you. I’ll be in on it, too, but without revealing 
my name. If people found out that I was involved, 
that
would cause some serious 
trouble. Anyway, that’s how we divide up the profits. All I need is for you to put your 
seal on a few documents, and I’ll take care of the rest. I know a good lawyer.” 
Tengo thought about what Komatsu was telling him. “Can you please just drop me 
from your plan? I don’t need to be paid. I enjoyed rewriting 
Air Chrysalis
, and I 
learned a lot from it. I’m glad that Fuka-Eri got the prize and I’ll do my best to 
prepare her for the press conference. But that’s all. I don’t want to have anything to 
do with this convoluted ‘company’ arrangement. That would be straight-up fraud.” 
“You can’t turn back now, Tengo,” Komatsu said. “Straight-up fraud? Maybe so. 
But you must have known that from the start when we decided to pull the wool over 
people’s eyes with this half-invented author, Fuka-Eri. Am I right? Of course 
something like this is going to involve money, and that’s going to require a 
sophisticated system to handle it. This is not child’s play. It’s too late to start saying 
you don’t want to have anything to do with it, that it’s too dangerous, that you don’t 
need money. If you were going to get out of the boat, you should have done it before, 
while the stream was still gentle. You can’t do it now. We need an official head count 
to set up a company, and I can’t start bringing in new people now who don’t know 
what’s going on. You have to do it. You’re right in the thick of what’s happening 
now.” 
Tengo racked his brain without producing a single useful thought. “I do have one 
question, though,” he said to Komatsu. “Judging from what you’re saying, Professor 
Ebisuno intends to give his full approval to the plan. It sounds as if he’s already 
agreed to set up the fake company and act as a representative.” 
“As Fuka-Eri’s guardian, the Professor understands and approves of the entire 
situation and has given us the green light. I called him as soon as you told me about 
your talk with him. He remembered me, of course. I think he didn’t say anything 
about me because he wanted to get your uncensored opinion of me. He said you 
impressed him as a sharp observer of people. What in the world did you tell him about 
me?” 
“What does Professor Ebisuno have to gain from participating in this plan? He 
can’t possibly be doing it for the money.” 
“You’re right about that. He’s not the kind of guy to be influenced by a little spare 
change.” 
“So why would he let himself get involved in such a risky plan? Does he have 
something to gain from it?” 
“I don’t know any better than you do. He’s a hard one to read.” 
“And so are you. That gives us a lot of deep motives to guess about.” 
“Well, anyway,” Komatsu said, “the Professor may look like just another innocent 
old guy, but in fact he’s quite inscrutable.” 
“How much does Fuka-Eri know about the plan?” 
“She doesn’t know—and she doesn’t need to know—anything about the behind-
the-scenes stuff. She trusts Professor Ebisuno and she likes you. That’s why I’m 
asking you for more help.” 

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182
Tengo shifted the phone from one hand to the other. He felt a need to trace the 
progress of the current situation. “By the way, Professor Ebisuno is not a scholar 
anymore, is he? He left the university, and he’s not writing books or anything.” 
“True, he’s cut all ties with academia. He was an outstanding scholar, but he 
doesn’t seem to miss the academic world. But then, he never did want much to do 
with authority or the organization. He was always something of a maverick.” 
“What sort of work is he doing now?” 
“I think he’s a stockbroker,” Komatsu said. “Or, if that sounds too old-fashioned, 
he’s an investment consultant. He manages money for people, and while he moves it 
around for them, he makes his own profit on the side. He stays holed up on the 
mountaintop, issuing suggestions to buy or sell. His instinct for it is frighteningly 
good. He also excels at analyzing data and has put together his own system. It was 
just a hobby for him at first, but it became his main profession. So that’s the story. 
He’s pretty famous in those circles. One thing’s for sure: he’s not hurting for money.” 
“I don’t see any connection between cultural anthropology and stock trading,” 
Tengo said. 
“In general, there is no connection, but there is for him.” 
“And he’s a hard one to read.” 
“Exactly.” 
Tengo pressed his fingertips against his temples. Then, resigning himself to his 
fate, he said, “I’ll meet Fuka-Eri at the usual café in Shinjuku at six o’clock the day 
after tomorrow, and we’ll prepare for the press conference. That’s what you want me 
to do, right?” 
“That’s the plan,” Komatsu said. “You know, Tengo, don’t think too hard about 
this stuff for the time being. Just go with the flow. Things like this don’t happen all 
that often in one lifetime. This is the magnificent world of a picaresque novel. Just 
brace yourself and enjoy the smell of evil. We’re shooting the rapids. And when we 
go over the falls, let’s do it together in grand style!” 
Tengo met Fuka-Eri at the Shinjuku café in the evening two days later. She wore a 
slim pair of jeans and a thin summer sweater that clearly revealed the outline of her 
breasts. Her hair hung down long and straight, and her skin had a fresh glow. The 
male customers kept glancing in her direction. Tengo could feel their gazes. Fuka-Eri 
herself, though, seemed totally unaware of them. When this girl was announced as the 
winner of a literary magazine’s new writers’ prize, it would almost certainly cause a 
commotion. 
Fuka-Eri had already received word that she had won the prize, but she seemed 
neither pleased nor excited by it. She didn’t care one way or the other. It was a 
summerlike day, but she ordered hot cocoa and clutched the cup in both hands, 
savoring every drop. No one had told her about the upcoming press conference, but 
when Tengo explained, she had no reaction. 
“You 
do
know what a press conference is, don’t you?” 
“Press conference …” Fuka-Eri repeated the words. 
“You sit up on the podium and answer questions from a bunch of newspaper and 
magazine reporters. They’ll take your picture. There might even be TV cameras. The 

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183
whole country will see reports on the questions and answers. It’s very unusual for a 
seventeen-year-old girl to win a literary magazine’s new writers’ award. It’ll be big 
news. They’ll make a big deal of the fact that the committee’s decision was 
unanimous. That almost never happens.” 
“Questions and answers,” Fuka-Eri asked. 
“They ask the questions, you give the answers.” 
“What kind of questions.” 
“All kinds of questions. About the work, about you, about your private life, your 
hobbies, your plans for the future. It might be a good idea to prepare answers now for 
those kinds of questions.” 
“Why.” 
“It’s safer that way. So you aren’t at a loss for answers and don’t say anything that 
might invite misunderstanding. It wouldn’t hurt to get ready for it now. Kind of like a 
rehearsal.” 
Fuka-Eri drank her cocoa in silence. Then she looked at Tengo with eyes that said, 
“I’m really not interested in doing such a thing, but if you think it’s necessary …” Her 
eyes could be more eloquent—or at least speak more full sentences—than her words. 
But she could hardly conduct a press conference with her eyes. 
Tengo took a piece of paper from his briefcase and unfolded it on the table. It 
contained a list of questions that were likely to come up at the press conference. 
Tengo had put a lot of time and thought into compiling it the night before. 
“I’ll ask a question, and you answer me as if I’m a newspaper reporter, okay?” 
Fuka-Eri nodded. 
“Have you written lots of stories before?” 
“Lots,” Fuka-Eri replied. 
“When did you start writing?” 
“A long time ago.” 
“That’s fine,” Tengo said. “Short answers are good. No need to add anything extra. 
Like, the fact that Azami did the writing for you. Okay?” 
Fuka-Eri nodded. 
“You shouldn’t say anything about that. It’s just our little secret, yours and mine.” 
“I won’t say anything about that,” Fuka-Eri said. 
“Did you think you’d win when you submitted your work for the new writers’ 
prize?” 
She smiled but said nothing. 
“So you don’t want to answer that?” 
“No.” 
“That’s fine. Just keep quiet and smile when you don’t want to answer. They’re 
stupid questions, anyway.” 
Fuka-Eri nodded again. 
“Where did you get the story line for