engo left the bar, Mugiatama, and wandered the streets, lost in thought. Eventually, he made up his mind and headed toward the small children’s playground—the place where he had first discovered two moons in the sky. I will climb the slide like last time, he thought, and look up at the sky once more. He might be able to see the moons from there again. And they might tell him something.

As he walked, he wondered when exactly he had last visited the playground. He couldn’t recall. The flow of time wasn’t uniform anymore, the sense of distance uncertain. But it probably had been in the early autumn. He remembered wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt. And now it was December.

A cold wind was blowing the mass of clouds off toward Tokyo Bay. The free-form clouds looked stiff and hard, as if made of putty. The two moons were visible, occasionally hiding behind the clouds. The familiar yellow moon, and the new, smaller green moon, both of them past full, about two-thirds size. The smaller moon was like a child hiding in its mother’s skirts. The moons were in almost the same location as the time he saw them before, as if they had been patiently waiting for Tengo’s return.

There was no one else in the playground. The mercury-vapor lamp shone brighter than before, a cold, harsh light. The bare branches of the zelkova tree reminded him of ancient white bones. It was the sort of night when you would expect to hear an owl. But there were no owls to be found in the city’s parks. Tengo tugged the hood of his yacht parka over his head and stuck his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. He climbed up the slide, leaned against the handrail, and gazed up at the two moons as they appeared, then disappeared, among the clouds. Beyond that, the stars twinkled silently. The amorphous filth that hangs over the city was blown away in the wind, leaving the air pure and clear.

Right now, how many people besides me have noticed these two moons? Tengo considered this. Fuka-Eri knew about it, because this was something that she initiated. Most likely. Other than her, though, nobody he knew had mentioned that the number of moons had increased. Have people not noticed? Or they don’t dare to bring it up in conversation? Is it just common knowledge? Either way, other than the friend who filled in for him at the cram school, Tengo hadn’t asked anybody about the moons. Actually, he had been careful not to bring it up in conversation, like it was some morally inappropriate subject.

Why?

Perhaps the moons wanted it that way, Tengo thought. Maybe these two moons are a special message meant just for me, and I am not permitted to share this information with anyone else.

But this was a strange way to see it. Why would the number of moons be a personal message? And what could they be trying to tell him? To Tengo it seemed less a message than a kind of complicated riddle. And if it’s a riddle, then who made it? Who’s not permitting things?

The wind rushed between the branches of the zelkova tree, making a piercing howl, like the coldhearted breath leaking out between the teeth of a person who has lost all hope. Tengo gazed at the moons, not paying much attention to the sound of the wind, sitting there until his whole body was chilled to the bone. It must have been around fifteen minutes. No, maybe more. His sense of time had left him. His body, initially warmed by the whiskey, now felt hard and cold, like a lonely boulder at the bottom of the sea.

The clouds continued to scud off toward the south. No matter how many were blown away, others appeared to take their place. There was an inexhaustible source of clouds in some land far to the north. Decisive people, minds fixed on the task, clothed in thick, gray uniforms, working silently from morning to night to make clouds, like bees make honey, spiders make webs, and war makes widows.

Tengo looked at his watch. It was almost eight. The playground was still deserted. Occasionally people would walk by quickly on the street in front. People who have finished work and are on the way home all walk the same way. In the new six-story apartment building on the other side of the street the lights were on in half the units. On windy winter nights, a window with a light shining in it acquires a gentle warmth. Tengo looked from one lit window to the next, in order, like looking up at a huge luxury cruise liner from a tiny fishing boat bobbing in the night sea. As if by prearrangement, all the curtains at the windows were closed. Seen from a freezing-cold slide in a park at night, they looked like a totally different world—a world founded on different principles, a world that ran by different rules. Beyond those curtains there must be people living their quite ordinary lives, peaceful and content.

Quite ordinary lives?

The only image that Tengo had of quite ordinary lives was stereotypical, lacking depth and color. A married couple, probably with two kids. The mother has on an apron. Steam rising from a bubbling pot, voices around the dining table—that’s as far as his imagination took him before plowing into a solid wall. What would a quite ordinary family talk about around the dinner table? He had no memory himself of ever talking with his father at the dinner table. They each just stuffed food into their mouths, silently, whenever they felt like it. And what they ate was hard to call a real meal.

After checking out all the illuminated windows in the building, Tengo again looked up at the pair of moons. But no matter how long he waited, neither moon said anything to him. Their faces were expressionless as they floated in the sky beside each other, like a precarious couplet in need of reworking. Today there was no message. That was the only thing they conveyed to Tengo.

The clouds swept tirelessly toward the south. All sizes and shapes of clouds appeared, then disappeared. Some of them had very unusual shapes, as if they had their own unique thoughts—small, hard, clearly etched thoughts. But Tengo wanted to know what the moons were thinking, not the clouds.

He finally gave up and stood, stretching his arms and legs, then climbed down from the slide. That’s all I can do. I was able to see that the number of moons hasn’t changed, and I will leave it at that for now. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, left the playground, and strode back to his apartment. As he walked he suddenly thought of Komatsu. It was about time for them to talk. He had to sort out, even if just barely, what had transpired between them. And Komatsu, too, had some things he must need to talk to Tengo about. Tengo had left the number of the sanatorium in Chikura with Komatsu’s office, but he had never heard from him. He would give Komatsu a call tomorrow. Before that, though, he needed to go to the cram school and read the letter that Fuka-Eri had left for him.

Fuka-Eri’s letter was in his desk drawer, unopened. For such a tightly sealed envelope, it was a short letter. On a page and a half of notebook paper, in blue ink, was her writing, that distinctive cuneiform-like script, the kind of writing that would be more appropriate on a clay tablet than notebook paper. Tengo knew it must have taken her a long time to write like that.

Tengo read the letter over and over. She had to get out of his place. Right this minute, she had written, because they were being watched. She had underlined these three places with a soft, thick pencil. Terribly eloquent underlining.

Who was watching us, and how she knew this—about this she said nothing. In the world that Fuka-Eri lived in, it seemed that facts were not conveyed directly. Like a map showing buried pirate treasure, things had to be connected through hints and riddles, ellipses and variations. He had grown used to it and, for the time being, provisionally, accepted whatever Fuka-Eri announced. When she said that they were being watched, no doubt they actually were being watched. When she felt that she had to get out, that meant the time had come for her to leave. The first thing to do was to accept all those statements as one comprehensive fact. Later on he could discover, or surmise, the background, the details, the basis for these hypotheses—or else just give up on it from the very beginning.

We’re being watched.

Did this mean people from Sakigake had found Fuka-Eri? They knew about his relationship with her. They had uncovered the fact that he was the one, at Komatsu’s request, who rewrote Air Chrysalis, which would explain why Ushikawa tried to get closer to Tengo. And if that was true, then there was a distinct possibility his apartment was under surveillance.

If this was true, though, they were really taking their time. Fuka-Eri had settled down in his apartment for nearly three months. These were organized people, people with real power and influence. If they had wanted to, they could have grabbed her anytime. There was no need to go to all the trouble of putting his apartment under surveillance. And if they really were watching her, they wouldn’t let her just leave.

The more Tengo tried to follow the logic of it, the more confused he got. All he concluded was that they weren’t trying to grab Fuka-Eri. Maybe at a certain point they had changed objectives. They weren’t after Fuka-Eri, but someone connected to her. For some reason they no longer viewed Fuka-Eri as a threat to Sakigake. If you accept that, though, then why go to the trouble of putting Tengo’s apartment under surveillance?

Tengo used the pay phone at the cram school to call Komatsu’s office. It was Sunday, but Tengo knew that he liked to come in and work on the weekend. The office could be a nice place, he liked to say, if there was nobody else there. But no one answered. Tengo glanced at his watch. It was eleven a.m., too early for Komatsu to show up at work. He started his day, and it didn’t matter what day of the week it was, after the sun had reached its zenith. Tengo, on a chair in the cafeteria, sipped the weak coffee and reread the letter from Fuka-Eri. As always she used hardly any kanji at all, and no paragraphs or punctuation.

Tengo you are back from the cat town and are reading this letter that’s good but we’re being watched so I have to get out of this place right this minute do not worry about me but I can’t stay here any longer as I said before the person you are looking for is within walking distance of here but be careful not to let somebody see you

Tengo read this telegram-like letter again three times, then folded it and put it in his pocket. As before, the more he read it, the more believable her words became. He was being watched by someone. Now he accepted this as a certainty. He looked up and scanned the cram school cafeteria. Class was in session so the cafeteria was nearly deserted. A handful of students were there, studying textbooks or writing in their notebooks. But he didn’t spot anyone in the shadows stealthily spying on him.

A basic question remained: If they weren’t watching Fuka-Eri, then why would there be surveillance here? Were they interested in Tengo himself, or was it his apartment? Tengo considered this. This was all at the level of conjecture. Somehow, he didn’t feel he was the object of their interest. His role in Air Chrysalis was long past.

Fuka-Eri had barely taken a step out of his apartment, so her sense that she was being watched meant that his apartment was under surveillance. But where could somebody keep his place under watch? The area where he lived was a crowded urban neighborhood, but Tengo’s third-floor apartment was, oddly enough, situated so that it was almost out of anyone’s line of sight. That was one of the reasons he liked the place and had lived there so long. His older girlfriend had liked the apartment for the same reason. “Putting aside how the place looks,” she often said, “it’s amazingly tranquil. Much like the person who lives here.”

Just before the sun set each day, a large crow would fly over to his window. This was the crow Fuka-Eri had talked about on the phone. It settled in the window box and rubbed its large, jet-black wings against the glass. This was part of the crow’s daily routine, to rest for a spell outside his apartment before homing back to its nest. This crow seemed to be curious about the interior of Tengo’s apartment. The large, inky eyes on either side of its head shifted swiftly, gathering information through a gap in the curtain. Crows are highly intelligent animals, and extremely curious. Fuka-Eri claimed to be able to talk with this crow. Still, it was ridiculous to think that a crow could be somebody’s tool to reconnoiter Tengo’s apartment.

So how were they watching him?

On the way home from the station Tengo stopped by a supermarket and bought some vegetables, eggs, milk, and fish. Standing at the entrance to his building, paper bag in hand, he glanced all around just to make sure. Nothing looked suspicious, the same scene as always—the electric lines hanging in the air like dark entrails; the small front yard, its lawn withered in the winter cold; the rusty mailboxes. He listened carefully, but all he could hear was the distinctive, incessant background noise of the city, like the faint hum of wings.

He went into his apartment, put away the food, then went over to the window, drew back the curtains, and inspected the scene outside. Across the road were three old houses, two-story homes built on minuscule lots. The owners were all long-term, elderly residents, people with crabby expressions who loathed any kind of change, so they weren’t about to welcome a newcomer to their second floor. Plus, even if someone was on the second floor and leaned way out the window, all they would be able to see was a glimpse of his ceiling.

Tengo closed the window, boiled water, and made coffee. As he sat at the dining table and drank it, he considered every scenario he could think of. Someone nearby was keeping him under watch. And Aomame was (or had been) within walking distance. Was there some connection between the two? Or was it all mere coincidence? He thought long and hard, but he couldn’t reach a conclusion. His thoughts went around and around, like a poor mouse stuck in an exitless maze allowed only to smell the cheese.

He gave up thinking about it and glanced through the newspaper he had bought at the station kiosk. Ronald Reagan, just reelected president that fall, had taken to calling Prime Minister Yasuhiro Nakasone Yasu, and Nakasone was calling him Ron. It might have been the way the photo was taken, but the two of them looked like a couple of men in the construction industry discussing how they were going to switch to cheap, shoddy building material. Riots in India following the assassination of Indira Gandhi were still ongoing, with Sikhs being butchered throughout the country. In Japan there was an unprecedented bumper crop of apples. But nothing in the paper aroused Tengo’s interest.

He waited until the clock showed two and then called Komatsu’s office once more.

As always, it took twelve rings before Komatsu picked up. Tengo wasn’t sure why, but it always seemed hard for him to get to the phone.

“Tengo, it’s been a while,” Komatsu said. His voice sounded like the old Komatsu. Smooth, a bit forced, difficult to pin down.

“I took two weeks off from work and was in Chiba. I just got back last night.”

“You said your father wasn’t doing so well. It must have been hard on you.”

“Not really. He’s in a deep coma, so I just spent time with him, gazing at his sleeping face. The rest of the time I was at the inn, writing.”

“Still, you’re talking about a life-or-death situation, so it couldn’t have been easy for you.”

Tengo changed the subject. “When we talked last, quite a while ago, you mentioned having to talk with me about something.”

“I remember,” Komatsu said. “I would like to have a nice long talk with you, if you’re free?”

“If it’s something important, maybe the sooner the better?”

“Yes, sooner is better.”

“Tonight could work for me.”

“That would be fine. I’m free tonight, too. Say, seven?”

“Seven it is,” Tengo said.

Komatsu told him to meet him in a small bar near his office, a place Tengo had been to a number of times. “It’s open on Sundays,” Komatsu added, “but there are hardly any people there then. So we can have a nice, quiet talk.”

“Is this going to be a long story?”

Komatsu thought about this. “I’m not sure. Until I actually tell it to you, I have no idea how long it will be.”

“That’s all right. I’ll be happy to listen. Because we’re in the same boat together, right? Or have you changed to another?”

“No, not at all,” Komatsu said, his tone more serious. “We’re still in the same boat. Anyway, I’ll see you at seven. I’ll tell you everything then.”

After he hung up, Tengo sat down at his desk, switched on his word processor, and typed up the story he had written out in fountain pen at the inn in Chikura. As he reread the story, he pictured the town in his mind: the sanatorium, the faces of the three nurses; the wind from the sea rustling through the pine trees, the pure white seagulls floating up above. Tengo stood up, pulled back the curtains, opened the sliding glass door, and deeply inhaled the cold air.

Tengo you are back from the cat town and are reading this letter that’s good

So wrote Fuka-Eri in her letter. But this apartment he had returned to was under surveillance. There could even be a hidden camera right here in the room. Anxious now that he had thought of this, Tengo scoured every corner of the apartment. But he found no hidden camera, no electronic bugs. This was, after all, an old, tiny, one-room unit, and anything like that would be next to impossible to keep hidden.

Tengo kept typing his manuscript until it grew dark. It took him much longer than he expected because he rewrote parts as he typed. He stopped for a moment to turn on the desk lamp and realized that the crow hadn’t come by today. He could tell when it came by from the sound, the large wings rubbing against the window. It left behind faint smudge marks on the glass, like a code waiting to be deciphered.

At five thirty he made a simple dinner. He wasn’t that hungry, but he had barely eaten anything for lunch. Best to get something in my stomach, he figured. He made a tomato and wakame salad and ate a slice of toast. At six fifteen he pulled on a black, high-neck sweater and an olive-green corduroy blazer and left the apartment. As he exited the front door he stopped and looked around again, but nothing caught his eye—no man hiding in the shadows of a telephone pole, no suspicious-looking car parked nearby. Even the crow wasn’t there. But this made Tengo all the more uneasy. All the seemingly benign things around him seemed to be watching him. Who knew if the people around—the housewife with her shopping basket; the silent old man taking his dog for a walk; the high school students, tennis rackets slung over their shoulders, pedaling by, ignoring him—might be part of a cleverly disguised Sakigake surveillance team.

I’m being paranoid, Tengo told himself. I need to be careful, but it’s no good to get overly jumpy. He hurried on toward the station, shooting an occasional glance behind him to make sure he wasn’t being followed. If he was being shadowed, Tengo was sure he would know it. His peripheral vision was better than most people’s, and he had excellent eyesight. After glancing back three times, he was certain that there was no one tailing him.

He arrived at the bar at five minutes before seven. Komatsu was not there yet, and Tengo was the first customer of the evening. A lush arrangement of bright flowers was in a large vase on the counter and the smell of freshly cut greenery wafted toward him. Tengo sat in a booth in the back and ordered a draft beer. He took a paperback out of the pocket of his jacket and began reading.

Komatsu came at seven fifteen. He had on a tweed jacket, a light cashmere sweater, a cashmere muffler, wool trousers, and suede shoes. His usual outfit. High-quality, tasteful clothes, nicely worn out. When he wore these, the clothes looked like he had been born in them. Maybe any new clothes he bought he then slept in and rolled around in. Maybe he washed them over and over and laid them out to dry in the shade. Only once they were broken in and faded would he wear them in front of others. At any rate, the clothes did make him look like a veteran editor. From the way he was dressed, that was the only possible thing he could be. Komatsu sat down across from Tengo and also ordered a draft beer.

“You seem the same as ever,” Komatsu commented. “How is the new novel coming?”

“I’m getting there, slowly but surely.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Writers have to keep on writing if they want to mature, like caterpillars endlessly chewing on leaves. It’s like I told you—taking on the rewrite of Air Chrysalis would have a good influence on your own writing. Was I right?”

Tengo nodded. “You were. Doing that rewrite helped me learn a lot about fiction writing. I started noticing things I had never noticed before.”

“Not to brag or anything, but I know exactly what you mean. You just needed the right opportunity.”

“But I also had a lot of hard experiences because of it. As you are aware.”

Komatsu’s mouth curled up neatly in a smile, like a crescent moon in winter. It was the kind of smile that was hard to read.

“To get something important, people have to pay a price. That’s the rule the world operates by.”

“You may be right. But I can’t tell the difference between what’s important and the price you have to pay. It has all gotten too complicated.”

“Complicated it definitely is. It’s like trying to carry on a phone conversation when the wires are crossed. Absolutely,” Komatsu said, frowning. “By the way, do you know where Fuka-Eri is now?”

“I don’t know where she is at present, no,” Tengo said, choosing his words carefully.

“At present,” Komatsu repeated meaningfully.

Tengo said nothing.

“But until a short while ago she was living in your apartment,” Komatsu said. “At least, that’s what I hear.”

Tengo nodded. “That’s right. She was at my place for about three months.”

“Three months is a long time,” said Komatsu. “And you never told anybody.”

“She told me not to tell anyone, so I didn’t. Including you.”

“But now she isn’t there anymore.”

“Right. She took off when I was in Chikura, and left behind a letter. I don’t know where she is now.”

Komatsu took out a cigarette, stuck it in his mouth, and lit a match. He narrowed his eyes and looked at Tengo.

“After she left your place Fuka-Eri went back to Professor Ebisuno’s house, on top of the mountain in Futamatao,” he said. “Professor Ebisuno contacted the police and withdrew the missing person’s report, since she had just gone off on her own and hadn’t been kidnapped. The police must have interviewed her about what happened. She is a minor, after all. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s an article in the paper about it before long, though I doubt it will say much. Since nothing criminal was involved, apparently.”

“Will it come out that she stayed with me?”

Komatsu shook his head. “I don’t think Fuka-Eri will mention your name. You know how she is. It can be the cops she’s talking to, the military police, a revolutionary council, or Mother Teresa—once she has decided not to say something, then mum’s the word. So I wouldn’t let that worry you.”

“I’m not worried. I would just like to know how things are going to work out.”

“Whatever happens, your name won’t be made public. Rest assured,” Komatsu said. His expression turned serious. “But there is something I need to ask you. I hesitate to bring it up.”

“How come?”

“Well, it’s very—personal.”

Tengo took a sip of beer and put the glass back on the table. “No problem. If it’s something I can answer, I will.”

“Did you and Fuka-Eri have a sexual relationship? While she was staying at your place, I mean. Just a simple yes or no is fine.”

Tengo paused for a moment and slowly shook his head. “The answer is no. I didn’t have that kind of relationship with her.”

Tengo made an instinctive decision that he shouldn’t reveal what had taken place between them on that stormy night. Besides, it wasn’t really what you would call a sex act. There was no sexual desire involved, not in the normal sense. On either side.

“So you didn’t have a sexual relationship.”

“We didn’t,” Tengo said, his voice dry.

Komatsu scrunched up his nose. “Tengo, I’m not doubting you. But you did hesitate before you replied. Maybe something close to sex happened? I’m not blaming you. I’m just trying to ascertain certain facts.”

Tengo looked straight into Komatsu’s eyes. “I wasn’t hesitating. I just felt weird, wondering why in the world you were so concerned about whether Fuka-Eri and I had a sexual relationship. You’re usually not the type to stick your head into other people’s private lives. You avoid that.”

“I suppose,” Komatsu said.

“Then why are you bringing something like that up now?”

“Who you sleep with or what Fuka-Eri does is basically none of my business.” Komatsu scratched the side of his nose. “As you have pointed out. But as you are well aware, Fuka-Eri isn’t just some ordinary girl. How should I put it? Every action she takes is significant.”

“Significant,” Tengo repeated.

“Logically speaking, all the actions that everybody takes have a certain significance,” Komatsu said. “But in Fuka-Eri’s case they have a deeper meaning. Something about her is different that way. So we need to be certain of whatever facts we can.”

“By we, who do you mean, exactly?” Tengo asked.

Komatsu looked uncharacteristically nonplussed. “Truth be told, it’s not me who wants to know whether the two of you had a sexual relationship, but Professor Ebisuno.”

“So Professor Ebisuno knows that Fuka-Eri stayed at my apartment?”

“Of course. He knew that the first day she showed up at your place. Fuka-Eri told him where she was.”

“I had no idea,” Tengo said, surprised. She had told him she hadn’t revealed to anyone where she was. Not that it mattered much now. “There’s one thing I just don’t get. Professor Ebisuno is her legal guardian and protector, so you would expect him to pay attention to things like that. But in the crazy situation we’re in now you would think his top priority would be to make sure she’s safe—not whether she’s staying chaste or not.”

Komatsu raised one corner of his lips. “I don’t really know the background. He just asked me to find out—to see you and ask whether the two of you had a physical relationship. That is why I asked you this, and the answer was no.”

“That’s correct. Fuka-Eri and I did not have a physical relationship,” Tengo said firmly, gazing steadily into Komatsu’s eyes. Tengo didn’t feel like he was lying.

“Good, then,” Komatsu said. He put another Marlboro between his lips, and lit a match. “That’s all I need to know.”

“Fuka-Eri is an attractive girl, no question about it,” Tengo said. “But as you are well aware, I have gotten mixed up in something quite serious, unwillingly. I don’t want things to get any more complicated than they are. Besides, I was seeing somebody.”

“I understand perfectly,” Komatsu said. “I know you’re a very clever person when it comes to things like that, with a very mature way of thinking. I will tell Professor Ebisuno what you said. I’m sorry I had to ask you. Don’t let it bother you.”

“It doesn’t especially bother me. I just thought it was strange, why such a thing like that would come up at this point.” Tengo paused for a moment. “What was it you wanted to tell me?”

Komatsu had finished his beer and ordered a Scotch highball from the bartender.

“What’s your pleasure?” he asked Tengo.

“I’ll have the same,” Tengo said.

Two highballs in tall glasses were brought over to their table.

“Well, first of all,” Komatsu began after a long silence, “I think that as much as possible we need to unravel some things about the situation that we’ve gotten entangled in. After all, we’re all in the same boat. By we I mean the four of us—you, me, Fuka-Eri, and Professor Ebisuno.”

“A very interesting group,” Tengo said, but his sarcasm didn’t seem to register with Komatsu.

Komatsu went on. “I think each of the four of us had his own expectation regarding this plan, and we’re not all on the same level, or moving in the same direction. To put it another way, we weren’t all rowing our oars at the same rhythm and at the same angle.”

“This isn’t the sort of group you would expect to be able to work well together.”

“That might be true.”

“And our boat was headed down the rapids toward a waterfall.”

“Our boat was indeed headed down the rapids toward a waterfall,” Komatsu admitted. “I’m not trying to make excuses, but from the start this was an extremely simple plan. We fool everybody, we make a bit of money. Half for laughs, half for profit. That was our goal. But ever since Professor Ebisuno got involved, the plot has thickened. A number of complicated subplots lie just below the surface of the water, and the water is picking up speed. Your reworking of the novel far exceeded my expectations, thanks to which the book got great reviews and had amazing sales. And then this took our boat off to an unexpected place—a somewhat perilous place.”

Tengo shook his head slightly. “It’s not a somewhat perilous place. It’s an extremely dangerous place.”

“You could be right.”

“Don’t act like this doesn’t concern you. You’re the one who came up with this idea in the first place.”

“Granted. I’m the one who had the idea and pushed the start button. Things went well at first, but unfortunately as it progressed I lost control. I do feel responsible for it, believe me. Especially about getting you involved, since I basically forced you into it. But it’s time for us to stop, take stock of where we are, and come up with a plan of action.”

After getting all this out, Komatsu took a breath and drank his highball. He picked up the glass ashtray and, like a blind man feeling an object all over to understand what it is, carefully ran his long fingers over the surface.

“To tell you the truth,” he finally said, “I was imprisoned for seventeen or eighteen days somewhere. From the end of August to the middle of September. The day it happened I was in my neighborhood, in the early afternoon, on my way to work. I was on the road to the Gotokuji Station. This large black car stopped beside me and the window slid down and someone called my name. I went over, wondering who it could be, when two men leapt out of the car and dragged me inside. Both of them were extremely powerful. One pinned my arms back, and the other put chloroform or something up to my nose. Just like in a movie, huh? But that stuff really does the trick, believe me. When I came to, I was being held in a tiny, windowless room. The walls were white, and it was like a cube. There was a small bed and a small wooden desk, but no chair. I was lying on the bed.”

“You were kidnapped?” Tengo asked.

Komatsu finished his inspection of the ashtray, returned it to the table, and looked up at Tengo. “That’s right. A real kidnapping. Like in that old movie, The Collector. I don’t imagine most people in the world ever think they will end up kidnapped. The idea never occurs to them. Right? But when they kidnap you, believe me, you’re kidnapped. It’s kind of—how shall I put it?—surreal. You can’t believe you are actually being kidnapped by someone. Could you believe it?”

Komatsu stared at Tengo, as if looking for a reply. But it was a rhetorical question. Tengo was silent, waiting for him to continue. He hadn’t touched his highball. Beads of moisture had formed on the outside, wetting the coaster.