1Q84 (37 page)

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
Air Chrysalis
?”

“From the blind goat.”

“Good answer. What are your friends at school saying about your winning the prize?”

“I don’t go to school.”

“Why don’t you go to school?”

No answer.

“Do you plan to keep writing fiction?”

Silence again.

Tengo drank the last of his coffee and returned the cup to the saucer. From the speakers recessed in the cafe’s ceiling, a string performance of soundtrack music from
The Sound of Music
played at low volume.

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens …

“Are my answers bad,” Fuka-Eri asked.

“Not at all,” Tengo said. “Not at all. They’re fine.”

“Good,” Fuka-Eri said.

Tengo meant it. Even though she could not speak more than a sentence at a time and some punctuation marks were missing, her answers were, in a sense, perfect. The best thing was her instant response to every question. Also good was the way she looked directly into the eyes of the questioner without blinking. This proved that her answers were honest and their shortness was not meant as a put-down. Another bonus was that no one was likely to be able to grasp her precise meaning. That was the main thing that Tengo was hoping for—that she should give an impression of sincerity even as she mystified her listeners.

“Your favorite novel is …?”

“
The Tale of the Heike
.”

Tengo was astounded. To think that a thirteenth-century samurai war chronicle should be her favorite “novel”! What a great answer!

“What do you like about
The Tale of the Heike
?”

“Everything.”

“How about another favorite?”

“
Tales of Times Now Past
.”

“But that’s even older! Don’t you read any new literature?”

Fuka-Eri gave it a moment of thought before saying, ” ‘Sansho the Bailiff.’ ”

Wonderful! Ogai Mori must have written that one around 1915. This was what she thought of as “new literature.”

“Do you have any hobbies?”

“Listening to music.”

“What kind of music?”

“I like Bach.”

“Anything in particular?”

“
BWV
846 to 893.”

Tengo mulled that one over. “
The Well-Tempered Clavier
, Books I and II.”

“Yes.”

“Why did you answer with the
BWV
numbers?”

“They’re easier to remember.”

The Well-Tempered Clavier
was truly heavenly music for mathematicians. It was composed of prelude and fugue pairs in major and minor keys using all twelve tones of the scale, twenty-four pieces per book, forty-eight pieces in all, comprising a perfect cycle.

“How about other works?” Tengo asked.

“
BWV
244.”

Tengo could not immediately recall which work of Bach’s had a
BWV
number of 244.

Fuka-Eri began to sing.

Buss’ und Reu’

Buss’ und Reu’

Knirscht das Sundenherz entzwei

Buss’ und Reu’

Buss’ und Reu’

Knirscht das Sundenherz entzwei

Knirscht das Sundenherz entzwei

Buss’ und Reu’ Buss’ und Reu’

Knirscht das Sundenherz entzwei

Buss’ und Reu’

Knirscht das Sundenherz entzwei

Dass die Tropfen meiner Zahren

Angenehme Spezerei

Treuer Jesu, dir gebaren.

Tengo was momentarily dumbstruck. Her singing was not exactly on key, but her German pronunciation was amazingly clear and precise.

” ‘St. Matthew Passion,’ ” Tengo said. “You know it by heart.”

“No I don’t,” the girl said.

Tengo wanted to say something, but the words would not come to him. All he could do was look down at his notes and move on to the next question.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

Fuka-Eri shook her head.

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to get pregnant.”

“It’s possible to have a boyfriend without getting pregnant.”

Fuka-Eri said nothing but instead blinked several times.

“Why don’t you want to get pregnant?”

Fuka-Eri kept her mouth clamped shut. Tengo felt sorry for having asked such a stupid question.

“Okay, let’s stop,” Tengo said, returning the list to his briefcase. “We don’t really know what they’re going to ask, and you’ll be fine answering them any way you like. You can do it.”

“That’s good,” Fuka-Eri said with apparent relief.

“I’m sure you think it’s a waste of time to prepare these answers.”

Fuka-Eri gave a little shrug.

“I agree with you. I’m not doing this because I want to. Mr. Komatsu asked me to do it.”

Fuka-Eri nodded.

“But,” Tengo said, “
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.”

“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.”

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.

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.