1Q84 (136 page)

“I understand. I will be careful,” Aomame said. She didn’t need to be told.
I’m looking for Tengo, so I won’t miss the most trivial detail. Still, like Tamaru said, I only have one pair of eyes
.

“That’s about it from me,” he said.

“How is the dowager?” Aomame asked.

“She is well,” Tamaru replied. Then he added, “Though she seems kind of quiet these days.”

“She never was one to talk much.”

Tamaru gave a low growl in the back of his throat, as if his throat were equipped with an organ to express special emotions. “She is even quieter than usual.”

Aomame pictured the dowager, alone on her chair, a large watering can at her feet, endlessly watching butterflies. Aomame knew very well how quietly the old lady breathed.

“I will include a box of madeleines with the next supplies,” Tamaru said as he wound up the conversation. “That might have a positive effect on the flow of time.”

“Thank you,” Aomame said.

Aomame stood in the kitchen and made cocoa. Before going back outside to resume her watch, she needed to warm up. She boiled milk in a pan and dissolved cocoa powder in it. She poured this into an oversized cup and added a cap of whipped cream she had made ahead of time. She sat down at the dining table and slowly sipped her cocoa as she reviewed her conversation with Tamaru. The man with the large, misshapen head is laying me out bare under a cold, harsh light. He’s a skilled professional, and dangerous.

She put on the down jacket, wrapped the muffler around her, and, the cup of half-drunk cocoa in hand, went out again to the balcony. She sat down on the garden chair and spread the blanket on her lap. The slide was deserted, as usual. But just then she spotted a child leaving the playground. It was strange for a child to be visiting the playground alone at this hour. A stocky child wearing a knit cap. She was looking at him from well above, through a gap in the screen on the balcony, and the child quickly cut across her field of vision and disappeared into the shadows of the building. His head seemed too big for a child, but it might just have been her imagination.

It certainly wasn’t Tengo, so Aomame gave it no more thought and turned back to the slide. She sipped her cocoa, warming her hands with the cup, and watched one bank of clouds after another scud across the sky.

Of course, it wasn’t a child that Aomame saw for a moment, but Ushikawa. If the light had been better, or if she had seen him a little longer, she would have noticed that his large head wasn’t that of a child. It would have dawned on her that that dwarfish, huge-headed person was none other than the man Tamaru had described. But Aomame had only glimpsed him for a few seconds, and at less than the ideal angle. Luckily, for the same reasons, Ushikawa hadn’t spotted Aomame out on the balcony.

At this point, a number of “if”s came to mind.
If
Tamaru had hung up a little earlier,
if
Aomame hadn’t made cocoa while mulling over things, she would have seen Tengo, on top of the slide, gazing up at the sky. She would have raced out of the room, and they would have been reunited after twenty years.

If that had happened, however, Ushikawa, who had been tailing Tengo, would have noticed that this was Aomame, would have figured out where she lived, and would have immediately informed the duo from Sakigake.

So it’s hard to say if Aomame’s not seeing Tengo at this point was an unfortunate or fortunate occurrence. Either way, as he had done before, Tengo climbed up to the top of the slide and gazed steadily at the two moons floating in the sky and the clouds crossing in front. Ushikawa watched Tengo from the shadows. In the interim Aomame left the balcony, talked with Tamaru on the phone, and made her cocoa. In this way, twenty-five minutes elapsed. A fateful twenty-five minutes. By the time Aomame had put on her down jacket and returned to the balcony, Tengo had left the playground. Ushikawa didn’t immediately follow after him. Instead, he stayed at the playground, checking on something he needed to make sure of. When he had finished, he quickly left the playground. It was during those few seconds that Aomame spotted him from the balcony.

The clouds were still racing across the sky, moving south, over Tokyo Bay and then out to the broad Pacific. After that, who knows what fate awaited them, just as no one knows what happens to the soul after death.

At any rate, the circle was drawing in tighter. But Tengo and Aomame weren’t aware that the circle around them was closing in. Ushikawa sensed what was happening, since he was actively taking steps to tighten it, but even he couldn’t see the big picture. He didn’t know the most important point: that the distance between him and Aomame was now no more than a couple dozen meters. And unusually for Ushikawa, when he left the playground his mind was incomprehensibly confused.

By ten it was too cold to stay outside, so Aomame reluctantly got up and went back into the warm apartment. She undressed and climbed into a hot bath. As she soaked in the water, letting the heat take away the lingering cold, she rested a hand on her belly. She could feel the slight swelling there. She closed her eyes and tried to feel the
little one
that was inside. There wasn’t much time left. Somehow she had to let Tengo know: that she was carrying his child. And that she would fight desperately to protect it.

She dressed, got into bed, lay on her side in the dark, and fell asleep. Before she fell into a deep sleep she had a short dream about the dowager.

Aomame is in the greenhouse at the Willow House as they watch butterflies together. The greenhouse is like a womb, dim and warm. The rubber tree she left behind in her old apartment is there. It has been well taken care of and is so green that she hardly recognizes it. A butterfly from a southern land that she has never seen before is resting on one of its thick leaves. The butterfly has folded its brightly colored wings and seems to be sleeping peacefully. Aomame is happy about this.

In the dream her belly is hugely swollen. It seems near her due date. She can make out the heartbeat of the
little one
. Her heartbeat and that of the
little one
blend together into a pleasant, joint rhythm.

The dowager is seated beside her, her back ramrod straight as always, her lips a straight line, quietly breathing. The two of them don’t talk, in order not to wake the sleeping butterfly. The dowager is detached, as if she doesn’t notice that Aomame is next to her. Aomame of course knows how closely the dowager protects her, but even so, she can’t shake a sense of unease. The dowager’s hands in her lap are too thin and fragile. Aomame’s hands unconsciously feel for the pistol, but can’t find it.

She is swallowed up by the dream, yet at the same time aware it is a dream. Sometimes Aomame has those kinds of dreams, where she is in a distinct, vivid reality but knows it isn’t real. It is a detailed scene from a small planet somewhere else.

In the dream, someone opens the door to the greenhouse. An ominous cold wind blows in. The large butterfly opens its eyes, spreads its wings, and flutters off, away from the rubber tree. Who is it? She twists her head to look in that direction. But before she can see who it is, the dream is over.

She was sweating when she woke up, an unpleasant, clammy sweat. She stripped off her damp pajamas, dried herself with a towel, and put on a new T-shirt. She sat up in bed for a time.
Something bad might be about to happen. Somebody might be trying to get the
little one.
And whoever that is might be very close by
. She had to find Tengo—there was not a moment to lose. But other than watching the playground every night, there wasn’t a thing she could do. Nothing other than what she was already doing—carefully, patiently, dutifully, keeping her eyes open, trained on this one tiny section of the world, that single point at the top of the slide. Even with such focus, though, a person can overlook things. Because she only has one pair of eyes.

Aomame wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. She lay down again in bed, rested her palms on her stomach, and quietly waited for sleep to overtake her.

“Nothing happened for three days after that,” Komatsu said. “I ate the food they gave me, slept at night in the narrow little bed, woke up when morning came, and used the small toilet in one corner of the room. The toilet had a partition for privacy, but no lock on it. There was still a lot of residual summer heat at the time, but the ventilator shaft seemed to be connected to an AC, so it didn’t feel hot.”

Tengo listened to Komatsu’s story without comment.

“They brought food three times a day. At what time, I don’t know. They took my watch away, and the room didn’t have a window, so I didn’t even know if it was day or night. I listened carefully but couldn’t hear a sound. I doubt anyone could hear any sound from me. I had no idea where they had taken me, though I did have a vague sense that we were somewhere off the beaten track. Anyhow, I was there for three days, and nothing happened. I’m not actually certain it was three days. They brought me nine meals altogether, and I ate them when they brought them. The lights in the room were turned out three times, and I slept three times. Usually I’m a light, irregular sleeper, but for some reason I slept like a log. It’s kind of strange, if you think about it. Do you follow me so far?”

Tengo silently nodded.

“I didn’t say a word for the entire three days. A young man brought my meals. He was thin and had on a baseball cap and a white medical face mask. He wore a kind of sweatshirt and sweatpants, and dirty sneakers. He brought my meals on a tray and then took them away when I was finished. They used paper plates and flimsy plastic knives, forks, and spoons. The food they brought was ordinary prepared food in silver foil packages—not very good, but not so bad you wouldn’t eat it. They didn’t bring much each meal, and I was hungry, so I ate every bite. This was kind of weird, too. Usually I don’t have much of an appetite, and if I’m not careful, sometimes I even forget to eat. They gave me milk and mineral water to drink. They didn’t provide coffee or tea. No single-malt whiskey or draft beer. No smokes, either. But what’re you going to do? It wasn’t like I was lounging around some nice hotel.”

As if he had just remembered that now he could smoke at his leisure, Komatsu pulled out a red Marlboro pack, stuck a cigarette between his lips, and lit it with a paper match. He sucked the smoke deep into his lungs, exhaled, and then frowned.

“The man who brought the meals never said a word. He must have been ordered by his superiors not to say anything. I’m sure he was at the bottom of the totem pole, a kind of all-purpose gofer. I think he must have been trained in one of the martial arts, though. He had a sort of focus to the way he carried himself.”

“You didn’t ask him anything?”

“I knew that if I spoke to him, he wouldn’t respond, so I just kept quiet and let things be. I ate the food they brought me, drank my milk, went to bed when they turned out the lights, woke up when they turned them back on. In the morning the young guy would come and bring me an electric razor and toothbrush, and I would shave and brush my teeth. When I was done he would take them back. Other than toilet paper, there was nothing else to speak of in the room. They didn’t let me take a shower or change my clothes, but I never felt like taking a shower or changing. There was no mirror in the room, but that didn’t bother me. The worst thing was definitely the boredom. I mean, from the time I woke up till the time I went to sleep, I had to sit there alone, not speaking to anyone, in this white, completely square, dice-like room. I was bored to tears. I’m kind of a print junkie, I always need to have something to read with me—a room-service menu, you name it. But I didn’t have any books, newspapers, or magazines. No TV or radio, no games. No one to talk to. Nothing to do but sit in the chair and stare at the floor, the walls, the ceiling. It was a totally absurd feeling. I mean, you’re walking down the road when some people jump out of nowhere, grab you, put chloroform or something over your nose, drag you off somewhere, and hold you in a strange, windowless little room. A weird situation no matter how you cut it. And you get so bored you think you’re going to lose your mind.”

Komatsu stared with deep feeling at the cigarette between his fingers, the smoke curling up, then flicked the ash into the ashtray.

“I think they must have thrown me into that tiny room for three days, with nothing to do, trying to get me to break down. They seemed to know what they were doing when it came to breaking a person’s spirit, pushing someone to the edge. On the fourth day—after I had my fourth breakfast, in other words—two other men came in. I figured this was the pair that had kidnapped me. I was attacked so suddenly that I didn’t get a good look at their faces. But when I saw them on the fourth day, it started to come back to me—how they had pulled me into the car so roughly that I thought they were going to twist my arm off, how they had stuffed a cloth soaked with some kind of drug on my nose and mouth. The two of them didn’t say a word the whole time, and it was over in an instant.”

Remembering the events, Komatsu frowned.

“One of them wasn’t very tall, but he was solidly built, with a buzzcut. He had a deep tan and prominent cheekbones. The other one was tall, with long limbs, sunken cheeks, his hair tied up behind him in a ponytail. Put them side by side and they looked like a comedy team. You’ve got your tall, thin one, and your short, stocky one with a goatee. But I could tell at a glance these were no comedians. They were a dangerous pair. They would never hesitate to do whatever had to be done, without making a big scene. They acted very relaxed, which made them all the more scary, and their eyes were frighteningly cold. They both wore black cotton trousers and white short-sleeved shirts. They were probably in their mid- to late twenties, the bald one maybe a little older than the other one. Neither one wore a watch.”