omame devoted a great deal of attention to her daily diet. Vegetarian dishes were central to the meals she prepared for herself, to which she added seafood, mostly white fish. An occasional piece of chicken was about all the meat she would eat. She chose only fresh ingredients and kept seasonings to a minimum, rejecting high-fat ingredients entirely and keeping her intake of carbohydrates low. Salads she would eat with a touch of olive oil, salt, and lemon juice, never dressings. She did not just eat a lot of vegetables, she also studied their nutritional elements in detail and made sure she was eating a well-balanced selection. She fashioned her own original menus and shared them with sports club members when asked. “Forget about counting calories,” she would always advise them. “Once you develop a knack for choosing the proper ingredients and eating in moderation, you don’t have to pay attention to numbers.”

This is not to say that she clung obsessively to her ascetic menus. If she felt a strong desire for meat, she would pop into a restaurant and order a thick steak or lamb chops. She believed that an unbearable desire for a particular food meant that the body was sending signals for something it truly needed, and she would follow the call of nature.

She enjoyed wine and sake, but she established three days a week when she would not drink at all in order to avoid excessive alcohol intake, as a way to both protect her liver and control the sugar in her bloodstream. For Aomame, her body was sacred, to be kept clean always, without a fleck of dust or the slightest stain. Whatever one enshrined there was another question, to be thought about later.

Aomame had no excess flesh, only muscle. She would confirm this for herself in detail each day, standing stark naked in front of the mirror. Not that she was thrilled at the sight of her own body. Quite the opposite. Her breasts were not big enough, and they were asymmetrical. Her pubic hair grew like a patch of grass that had been trampled by a passing army. She couldn’t stop herself from scowling at the sight of her own body, but there was nothing there for her to pinch.

She lived frugally, but her meals were the only things on which she deliberately spent her money. She never compromised on the quality of her groceries, and drank only good-quality wines. On those rare occasions when she ate out, she would choose restaurants that prepared their food with the greatest care. Almost nothing else mattered to her—not clothing, not cosmetics, not accessories. Jeans and a sweater were all she needed for commuting to work at the sports club, and once she was there she would spend the day in a jersey top and bottom—without accessories, of course. She rarely had occasion to go out in fancy clothing. Once Tamaki Otsuka was married, she no longer had any women friends to dine out with. She would wear makeup and dress well when she was out in search of a one-night stand, but that was once a month and didn’t require an extensive wardrobe.

When necessary, Aomame would make the rounds of the boutiques in Aoyama to have one “killer dress” made and to buy an accessory or two and a pair of heels to match. That was all she needed. Ordinarily she wore flats and a ponytail. As long as she washed her face well with soap and water and applied moisturizer, she always had a glow. The most important thing was to have a clean, healthy body.

Aomame had been used to living a simple, unadorned life since childhood. Self-denial and moderation were the values pounded into her as long as she could remember. Her family’s home was free of all extras, and “waste” was their most commonly used word. They had no television and did not subscribe to a newspaper. Even news was looked upon in her home as a nonessential. Meat and fish rarely found their way to the dining table. Her school lunches provided Aomame with the nutrients she needed for development. The other children would complain how tasteless the lunches were, and would leave much of theirs uneaten, but she almost wished she could have what they wasted.

She wore only hand-me-downs. The believers would hold periodic gatherings to exchange their unneeded articles of clothing, as a result of which her parents never once bought her anything new, the only exceptions being things like the gym clothes required by the school. She could not recall ever having worn clothing or shoes that fit her perfectly, and the items she did have were an assemblage of clashing colors and patterns. If the family could not afford any other lifestyle, she would have just resigned herself to the fact, but Aomame’s family was by no means poor. Her father was an engineer with a normal income and savings. They chose their exceedingly frugal lifestyle entirely as a matter of belief.

Because the life she led was so very different from those of the children around her, for a long time Aomame could not make friends with anyone. She had neither the clothing nor the money that would have enabled her to go out with a friend. She was never given an allowance, so that even if she had been invited to someone’s birthday party (which, for better or worse, never happened), she would not have been able to bring along a little gift.

Because of all this, Aomame hated her parents and deeply despised both the world to which they belonged and the ideology of that world. What she longed for was an ordinary life like everybody else’s. Not luxury: just a totally normal little life, nothing more. She wanted to hurry up and become an adult so she could leave her parents and live alone—eating what and as much as she wanted, using the money in her purse any way she liked, wearing new clothes of her own choosing, wearing shoes that fit her feet, going where she wanted to go, making lots of friends and exchanging beautifully wrapped presents with them.

Once she became an adult, however, Aomame discovered that she was most comfortable living a life of self-denial and moderation. What she wanted most of all was not to go out with someone all dressed up, but to spend time alone in her room dressed in a jersey top and bottom.

After Tamaki died, Aomame quit the sports drink company, left the dormitory she had been living in, and moved into a one-bedroom rental condo in the lively, freewheeling Jiyugaoka neighborhood, away from the center of the city. Though hardly spacious, the place looked huge to her. She kept her furnishings to a minimum—except for her extensive collection of kitchen utensils. She had few possessions. She enjoyed reading books, but as soon as she was through with them, she would sell them to a used bookstore. She enjoyed listening to music, but was not a collector of records. She hated to see her belongings pile up. She felt guilty whenever she bought something. I don’t really need this, she would tell herself. Seeing the nicer clothing and shoes in her closet would give her a pain in the chest and constrict her breathing. Such sights suggestive of freedom and opulence would, paradoxically, remind Aomame of her restrictive childhood.

What did it mean for a person to be free? she would often ask herself. Even if you managed to escape from one cage, weren’t you just in another, larger one?

Whenever Aomame sent a designated man into the other world, the dowager of Azabu would provide her with remuneration. A wad of bills, tightly wrapped in blank paper, would be deposited in a post-office box. Aomame would receive the key from Tamaru, retrieve the contents of the box, and later return the key. Without breaking the seal on the pack of bills to count the money, she would throw the package into her bank’s safe-deposit box, which now contained two hard bricks of cash.

Aomame was unable to use up her monthly salary from the sports club, and she even had a bit of savings in the bank. She had no use whatever for the dowager’s money, which she tried to explain to her the first time she received the remuneration.

“This is a mere external form,” the dowager said softly but firmly. “Think of it as a kind of set procedure—a requirement. You are at least required to receive it. If you don’t need the money, then you don’t have to use it. If you hate the idea of taking it, I don’t mind if you donate it anonymously to some charity. You are free to do anything you like with it. But if you ask me, the best thing for you to do would be to keep it untouched for a while, stored away somewhere.”

“I just don’t like the idea of money changing hands for something like this,” Aomame said.

“I understand how you feel, but remember this: thanks to the fact that these terrible men have been so good as to remove themselves from our presence, there has been no need for divorce proceedings or custody battles, and no need for the women to live in fear that their husbands might show up and beat them beyond recognition. Life insurance and survivors’ annuities have been paid. Think of the money you get as the 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 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 …”

“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.”

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?”

“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?”

“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?”

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, Ayumi is right. Who could possibly object to a wine like this?

“You’re amazing,” Ayumi said, “the way you can put this in such a philosophical perspective.”

“I’m not being philosophical. I’m just telling you what I honestly think.”

“I was in love with somebody once,” Ayumi said with a confidential air. “Right after I graduated from high school. The boy I first had sex with. He was three years older than me. But he dumped me for somebody else right away. I went kind of wild after that. It was really hard on me. I got over him, but I still haven’t recovered from the wild part. He was a real two-timing bastard, a smooth talker. But I really loved him.”

Aomame nodded, and Ayumi picked up her wineglass and took a drink.

“He still calls me once in a while, says he wants to get together. All he wants is my body, of course. I know that. So I don’t see him. I know it would just be another mess if I did. Or should I say my brain knows it, but my body always reacts. It wants him so badly! When these things build up, I let myself go crazy again. I wonder if you know what I mean.”

“I certainly do,” Aomame said.

“He’s really an awful guy, pretty nasty, and he’s not that good in bed, either. But at least he’s not scared of me, and while I’m with him he treats me well.”

“Feelings like that don’t give you any choice, do they?” Aomame said. “They come at you whenever they want to. It’s not like choosing food from a menu.”

“It is in one way: you have regrets after you make a mistake.”

They shared a laugh.

Aomame said, “It’s the same with menus and men and just about anything else: we think we’re choosing things for ourselves, but in fact we may not be choosing anything. It could be that everything’s decided in advance and we pretend we’re making choices. Free will may be an illusion. I often think that.”

“If that’s true, life is pretty dark.”

“Maybe so.”

“But if you can love someone with your whole heart—even if he’s a terrible person and even if he doesn’t love you back—life is not a hell, at least, though it might be kind of dark. Is that what you’re saying?” Ayumi asked.

“Exactly.”

“But still,” Ayumi said, “it seems to me that this world has a serious shortage of both logic and kindness.”

“You may be right,” Aomame said. “But it’s too late to trade it in for another one.”

“The exchange window expired a long time ago,” Ayumi said.

“And the receipt’s been thrown away.”

“You said it.”

“Oh, well, no problem,” Aomame said. “The world’s going to end before we know it.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“And the kingdom is going to come.”

“I can hardly wait,” Ayumi said.

They ate dessert, drank espresso, and split the bill (which was amazingly cheap). Then they dropped into a neighborhood bar for cocktails.

“Oh, look at him over there,” Ayumi said. “He’s your type, isn’t he?”

Aomame swung her gaze in that direction. A tall, middle-aged man was drinking a martini alone at the end of the bar. He looked like a high school scholar-athlete who had entered middle age virtually unchanged. His hair was beginning to thin, but he still had a youthful face.

“He may be, but we’re not having anything to do with men today,” Aomame declared. “And besides, this is a classy bar.”

“I know. I just wanted to see what you’d say.”

“We’ll do that next time.”

Ayumi looked at Aomame. “Does that mean you’ll go with me next time? Searching for men, I mean.”

“For sure,” Aomame said. “Let’s do it.”

“Great! Something tells me that together, we can do anything!”

Aomame was drinking a daiquiri, Ayumi a Tom Collins.

“Oh, by the way,” Aomame said, “on the phone the other day you said we were doing lesbian stuff. What kind of stuff?”

“Oh, that,” Ayumi said. “It was nothing special. We just faked it a bit to liven things up. You really don’t remember anything? You were pretty hot.”

“Not a thing. My memory is wiped clean.”

“We were naked and touching each other’s breasts and kissing down there and—”

“Kissing down there?!” Aomame exclaimed. After the words escaped her lips, she nervously glanced around. She had spoken too loudly in the quiet bar, but fortunately no one seemed to have heard what she said.

“Don’t worry, like I said, we were faking it. No tongues.”

“Oh, man,” Aomame sighed, pressing her temples. “What the hell was that all about?”

“I’m sorry,” Ayumi said.

“It’s not your fault. I should never have let myself get so drunk.”

“But really, Aomame, you were so sweet and clean down there. Like new.”

“Well, of course, I really am almost new down there.”

“You mean you don’t use it all that often?”

Aomame nodded. “That’s exactly what I mean. So, tell me: are you interested in women?”

Ayumi shook her head. “No, I never did anything like that before. Really. But I was pretty drunk, too, and I figured I wouldn’t mind doing a little of that stuff as long as it was with you. Faking it. Just for fun. How about you?”

“No, I don’t have those kinds of feelings, either. Once, though, when I was in high school, I kind of did stuff like that with a good friend of mine. Neither of us had been planning it. It just sort of happened.”

“It’s probably not that unusual. Did you feel anything that time?”

“I did, I think,” Aomame answered honestly. “But only that once. I also felt it was wrong and never did anything like it again.”

“You mean you think lesbian sex is wrong?”

“No, not at all. I’m not saying lesbian sex is wrong or dirty or anything. I mean I just felt I shouldn’t get into that kind of a relationship with that particular friend. I didn’t want to change an important friendship into anything so physical.”

“I see,” Ayumi said. “You know, if it’s okay with you, would you mind putting me up tonight? I don’t feel like going back to the dorm. The minute I walk in there it will just ruin the elegant mood we’ve managed to create this evening.”

Aomame took her last sip of daiquiri and set her glass on the bar. “I don’t mind putting you up, but no fooling around.”

“No, no, that’s fine, I’m not looking for that. I just want to stay with you a little longer. I don’t care where you put me to bed. I can sleep anywhere—even on the floor. And I’m off duty tomorrow, so we can hang out in the morning, too.”

They took the subway back to Aomame’s apartment in Jiyugaoka, arriving just before eleven. Both were pleasantly drunk and sleepy. Aomame put bedding on the sofa and lent Ayumi a pair of pajamas.

“Can I get in bed with you for a minute or two?” Ayumi asked. “I want to stay close to you just a little bit longer. No funny business, I promise.”

“I don’t mind,” Aomame said, struck by the fact that a woman who had killed three men would be lying in bed with an active-duty policewoman. Life was so strange!

Ayumi crawled under the covers and wrapped her arms around Aomame, her firm breasts pressing against Aomame’s arm, her breath smelling of alcohol and toothpaste. “Don’t you think my breasts are too big?” she asked Aomame.

“Not at all. They’re beautiful.”

“Sure, but, I don’t know, big boobs make you look stupid, don’t you think? Mine bounce when I run, and I’m too embarrassed to hang my bras out to dry—they’re like two big salad bowls.”

“Men seem to like them like that.”

“And even my nipples are too big.” Ayumi unbuttoned her pajama top and pulled out a breast. “Look. This is a big nipple! Don’t you think it’s odd?”

Aomame looked at Ayumi’s nipple. It was certainly not small, but not so big as to cause concern, maybe a little bit bigger than Tamaki’s. “It’s nice. Did somebody tell you your nipples are too big?”

“Yeah, one guy. He said they’re the biggest he’s ever seen in his life.”

“I’m sure he hadn’t seen very many. Yours are ordinary. Mine are too small.”

“No, I like your breasts. They’re very elegantly shaped, and they give this intellectual impression.”

“That’s ridiculous. They’re too small, and they’re different sizes. I have trouble buying bras because one side is bigger than the other.”

“Really? I guess we all have our issues.”

“Exactly. Now go to sleep,” Aomame said.

Ayumi stretched her arm down and started to put a finger into Aomame’s pajamas. Aomame grabbed her hand.

“No, you promised.”

“Sorry,” Ayumi said, pulling her hand back. “You’re right, I did promise, didn’t I? I must be drunk. But I’m crazy about you. Like some mousy little high school girl.”

Aomame said nothing.

Almost whispering, Ayumi said, “What I think is that you’re saving the one thing that’s most important to you for that boy. It’s true, isn’t it? I envy you. That you’ve got somebody to save yourself for.”

She could be right, Aomame thought. But what is the one thing that’s most important to me?

“Now go to sleep,” Aomame said. “I’ll hold you until you fall asleep.”

“Thank you,” Ayumi said. “Sorry for putting you to so much trouble.”

“Don’t apologize. This is no trouble.”

Aomame continued to feel Ayumi’s warm breath against her side. A dog howled in the distance, and someone slammed a window shut. All the while, Aomame kept stroking Ayumi’s hair.

Aomame slipped out of bed after Ayumi was sound asleep. She would be the one sleeping on the sofa tonight, it seemed. She took a bottle of mineral water from the refrigerator and drank two glasses from it. Then she stepped out onto her small balcony and sat in an aluminum chair, looking at the neighborhood stretched out below. It was a soft spring night. The breeze carried the roar of distant streets like a man-made ocean. The glitter of neon had diminished somewhat now that midnight had passed.

I’m fond of this girl Ayumi, no doubt about it. I want to be as good to her as I can. After Tamaki died, I made up my mind to live without deep ties to anyone. I never once felt that I wanted a new friend. But for some reason I feel my heart opening to Ayumi. I can even confess my true feelings to her with a certain degree of honesty. She is totally different from you, of course, Aomame said to the Tamaki inside. You are special. I grew up with you. No one else can compare.

Aomame leaned her head back and looked up at the sky for a time. Even as her eyes took in the sky, her mind wandered through distant memories. The time she spent with Tamaki, the talking they did, and the touching.… Soon, she began to sense that the night sky she saw above her was somehow different from the sky she was used to seeing. The strangeness of it was subtle but undeniable.

Some time had to pass before she was able to grasp what the difference was. And even after she had grasped it, she had to work hard to accept it. What her vision had seized upon, her mind could not easily confirm.

There were two moons in the sky—a small moon and a large one. They were floating there side by side. The large one was the usual moon that she had always seen. It was nearly full, and yellow. But there was another moon right next to it. It had an unfamiliar shape. It was somewhat lopsided, and greenish, as though thinly covered with moss. This was what her vision had seized upon.

Aomame stared at the two moons with narrowed eyes. Then she closed her eyes, let a moment pass, took a deep breath, and opened her eyes again, expecting to find that everything had returned to normal and there was only one moon. But nothing had changed. The light was not playing tricks on her, nor had her eyesight gone strange. There could be no doubt that two moons were clearly floating in the sky side by side—a yellow one and a green one.

She thought of waking Ayumi to ask if there really were two moons up there, but she decided against it. Ayumi might say, “Of course there are two moons in the sky. They increased in number last year.” Or then again, she might say, “What are you talking about? There’s only one moon up there. Something must be wrong with your eyes.” Neither response would solve the problem now facing her. Both would only deepen it.

Aomame raised her hands to cover the lower half of her face, and she continued staring at the two moons. Something is happening, for sure, she thought. Her heartbeat sped up. Something’s wrong with the world, or something’s wrong with me: one or the other. The bottle and the cap don’t fit: is the problem with the bottle or the cap?

She went back inside, locked the balcony door, and drew the curtain. She took a bottle of brandy from the cabinet and poured herself a glassful. Ayumi was sleeping nicely in bed, her breathing deep and even. Aomame kept watch over her and took a sip of brandy now and then. Planting her elbows on the kitchen table, she struggled not to think about what lay beyond the curtain.

Maybe the world really is ending, she thought.

“And the kingdom is coming,” Aomame muttered to herself.

“I can hardly wait,” somebody said somewhere.