After the quake blind willow, sleeping woman dance dance dance

please
don’t tell anyone that I rewrote 
Air Chrysalis
. You 
understand that, don’t you?” 
Fuka-Eri nodded twice. “I wrote it by myself.” 

---

186
“In any case, 
Air Chrysalis
is your work alone and no one else’s. That has been 
clear from the outset.” 
“I wrote it by myself,” Fuka-Eri said again. 
“Did you read my rewritten 
Air Chrysalis
?” 
“Azami read it to me.” 
“How did you like it?” 
“You’re a good writer.” 
“Which means you liked it, I suppose?” 
“It’s like I wrote it,” Fuka-Eri said. 
Tengo looked at her. She picked up her cocoa cup and took a sip. He had to 
struggle not to look at the lovely swell of her chest. 
“I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “I really enjoyed rewriting 
Air Chrysalis
. Of 
course, it was very hard work trying not to destroy what you’d done with it. So it’s 
very important to me to know whether you liked the finished product or not.” 
Fuka-Eri nodded silently. Then, as if trying to ascertain something, she brought her 
hand up to her small, well-formed earlobe. 
The waitress approached and refilled their water glasses. Tengo took a swallow to 
moisten his throat. Then, screwing up his courage, he gave voice to a thought that he 
had been toying with for a while. 
“I have my own request to make of you now, if you don’t mind.” 
“What’s that.” 
“I’d like you to go to the press conference in the same clothes you’re wearing 
today.” 
Fuka-Eri gave him a puzzled look. Then she looked down to check each article of 
clothing she had on, as if she had been unaware until this moment of what she was 
wearing. 
“You want me to go wearing this,” she asked. 
“Right. I’d like you to go to the press conference wearing exactly what you’re 
wearing now.” 
“Why.” 
“It looks good on you. It shows off the shape of your chest beautifully. This is 
strictly my own hunch, but I suspect the reporters won’t be able to stop themselves 
from looking down there and they’ll forget to ask you tough questions. Of course, if 
you don’t like the idea, that’s fine. I’m not insisting.” 
Fuka-Eri said, “Azami picks all my clothes.” 
“Not you?” 
“I don’t care what I wear.” 
“So Azami picked your outfit today?” 
“Azami picked it.” 
“Even so, it looks great on you.” 
“So this outfit makes my chest look good,” she asked without a question mark. 
“Most definitely. It’s a real attention-getter.” 
“This sweater and bra are a good match.” 
Fuka-Eri looked straight into his eyes. Tengo felt himself blushing. 
“I can’t tell what kind of matching is involved, but the, uh, 
effect
is excellent.” 

---

187
Fuka-Eri was still staring into Tengo’s eyes. Gravely, she asked, “You can’t stop 
yourself from looking down there.” 
“It’s true, I must confess,” Tengo said. 
Fuka-Eri pulled on the collar of her sweater and all but stuck her nose inside as she 
looked down, apparently to check out what kind of bra she had on today. Then she 
focused her eyes on Tengo’s bright red face for a moment as if looking at some kind 
of curiosity. “I will do as you say,” she said a moment later. 
“Thank you,” Tengo said, bringing their session to an end. 
Tengo walked Fuka-Eri to Shinjuku Station. Many people on the street had their 
jackets off. A few women wore sleeveless tops. The bustle of people combined with 
the traffic created the liberated sound unique to the city. A fresh early-summer breeze 
swept down the street. Tengo was mystified: where could such a wonderful-smelling 
wind come from to reach the crowded streets of Shinjuku? 
“Are you going back to your house in the country?” Tengo asked Fuka-Eri. The 
trains were jammed; it would take her forever to get home. 
Fuka-Eri shook her head. “I have a room in Shinano-machi. Just a few minutes 
away from here.” 
“You stay there when it gets too late to go home?” 
“Futamatao is too far away.” 
As before, Fuka-Eri held Tengo’s left hand while they were walking to the station. 
She did it the way a little girl holds a grown-up’s hand, but still it made Tengo’s heart 
pound to have his hand held by such a beautiful girl. 
When they reached the station, she let go of his hand and bought a ticket to 
Shinano-machi from the machine. 
“Don’t worry about the press conference,” Fuka-Eri said. 
“I’m not worried.” 
“Even if you don’t worry, I can do it okay.” 
“I know that,” Tengo said. “I’m not the least bit worried. I’m sure it will be okay.” 
Without speaking, Fuka-Eri disappeared through the ticket gate into the crowd. 
After leaving Fuka-Eri, Tengo went to a little bar near the Kinokuniya bookstore and 
ordered a gin and tonic. This was a bar he would go to now and then. He liked the 
old-fashioned decor and the fact that they had no music playing. He sat alone at the 
bar and stared at his left hand for a while, thinking nothing in particular. This was the 
hand that Fuka-Eri had been holding. It still retained her touch. He thought about her 
chest, its beautiful curves. The shape was so perfect it had almost no sexual meaning. 
As he thought about these things, Tengo found himself wanting to talk with his 
older girlfriend on the telephone—to talk about anything at all: her complaints about 
child raising, the approval rating of the Nakasone government, it didn’t matter. He 
just wanted to hear her voice. If possible, he wanted to meet her somewhere right 
away and have sex with her. But calling her at home was out of the question. Her 
husband might answer. One of her children might answer. He never did the phoning. 
That was one of the rules they had established. 

---

188
Tengo ordered another gin and tonic, and while he waited for it he imagined 
himself in a little boat shooting the rapids. On the phone Komatsu had said, “When 
we go over the falls, let’s do it together in grand style!” But could Tengo take him at 
his word? Wouldn’t Komatsu leap onto a handy boulder just before they reached the 
falls? “Sorry, Tengo,” he would say, “but I just remembered some business I have to 
take care of. I’ll leave the rest of this to you.” And the only one to go over the falls in 
style would be Tengo himself. It was not inconceivable. Indeed, it was all too 
conceivable. 
. . . 
He went home, went to bed, and dreamed. He hadn’t had such a vivid dream in a very 
long time. He was a tiny piece in a gigantic puzzle. But instead of having one fixed 
shape, his shape kept changing. And so—of course—he couldn’t fit anywhere. As he 
tried to sort out where he belonged, he was also given a set amount of time to gather 
the scattered pages of the timpani section of a score. A strong wind swept the pages in 
all directions. He went around picking up one page at a time. He had to check the 
page numbers and arrange them in order as his body changed shape like an amoeba. 
The situation was out of control. Eventually Fuka-Eri came along and grabbed his left 
hand. Tengo’s shape stopped changing. The wind suddenly died and stopped 
scattering the pages of the score. “What a relief!” Tengo thought, but in that instant 
his time began to run out. “This is the end,” Fuka-Eri informed him in a whisper. One 
sentence, as always. Time stopped, and the world ended. The earth ground slowly to a 
halt, and all sound and light vanished. 
When he woke up the next day, the world was still there, and things were already 
moving forward, like the great karmic wheel of Indian mythology that kills every 
living thing in its path. 

---

189