"You're right," Hoshino said, and scratched his earlobe in resignation. "Right you are, right as rain, rain rain go away, come again some other day… Anyway, that makes me feel better." He then stood up once more, to try to move the stone. He took a deep breath, grabbed it, and focused all his strength in his hands. With a low grunt he managed to lift the stone an inch or two.

"You moved it a little," Nakata said.

"So we know it's not nailed down. But I've got to move it more than that, I guess."

"You need to flip it completely over."

"Like a pancake."

Nakata nodded "That's right. Pancakes are one of Nakata's favorites."

"Glad to hear it. So they have pancakes in hell, huh? Anyway, let me give it one more try. I think I can flip this thing over."

Hoshino closed his eyes and summoned up every ounce of strength, concentrating it on this one action. This is it! he told himself. Now or never!

He got a good grip, carefully tightened it, then took a huge breath, let out a gut-wrenching yell, and all at once lifted the stone, holding it in the air at a forty-five-degree angle. That was the limit of his strength. Somehow, he was able to hold it in that position. He gasped, his whole body aching, his bones and muscles and nerves screaming in pain, but he wasn't about to give up. He took in one last deep breath and gave out a battle cry, but couldn't hear his own voice. He had no idea what he was saying. Eyes shut tight, he managed to drag out a strength he never knew he had, strength that should have been beyond him. Lack of oxygen made everything go white. One after another his nerves snapped like popping fuses. He couldn't see or hear a thing, or even think. There wasn't enough air. Still, he inched the stone upward and, with a final yell, tipped it over. He lost his grip, and the weight of the stone itself flipped it over. A massive thud rattled the room as if the whole building was shaking.

The recoil sent Hoshino tumbling backward. He lay there, sprawled faceup on the tatami, gasping for air, his head filled with soft mud whirling round and round. I don't think, he thought, I'll ever lift something this heavy again as long as I live. (Later on, though, it turned out that this prediction was overly optimistic.)

"Mr. Hoshino?"

"Wh-what?"

"The entrance opened up, thanks to you."

"You know something, Gramps? I mean, Mr. Nakata?"

"What is it?"

Faceup, eyes still shut, Hoshino took another long, deep breath and exhaled. "It better have opened up. Otherwise I killed myself for nothing."

I get the library all ready to open up before Oshima arrives. Vacuum all the floors, wipe the windows, clean the restroom, wipe off all the chairs and desks. Spray the banister, polish it up nicely. Carefully dust the stained glass on the landing. Sweep the garden, switch on the AC in the reading room and the storeroom's dehumidifier. Make coffee, sharpen pencils. A deserted library in the morning-there's something about it that really gets to me. All possible words and ideas are there, resting quietly. I want to do what I can to preserve this place, keep it neat and tidy. Sometimes I come to a halt and gaze at all the silent books on the stacks, reach out and touch the spines of a few. At ten-thirty, as always, the Mazda Miata roars into the parking lot and Oshima appears, looking a little sleepy. We chat for a while till it's time to open up.

"If it's okay, I'd like to go out for a while," I tell him right after we open up.

"Where to?"

"I need to go to the gym and work out. I haven't gotten any exercise for a while."

That isn't the only reason. Miss Saeki comes in to work late in the morning, and I don't want to run into her. I need some time to get my head together before I see her again.

Oshima looks at me and, after a pause, nods. "Watch out, though. I don't want to henpeck you, but you can't be too careful, okay?"

"Don't worry, I'll be careful," I assure him.

Backpack slung from one shoulder, I board the train. At Takamatsu Station I take a bus to the fitness club. I change into my gym clothes in the locker room, then do some circuit training, plugged into my Walkman, Prince blasting away. It's been a while and my muscles complain, but I manage. It's the body's normal reaction-muscles screaming out, resisting the extra burden put on them. Listening to "Little Red Corvette," I try to soothe that reaction, suppress it. I take a deep breath, hold it, exhale. Inhale, hold, exhale. Even breathing, over and over. One by one I push my muscles to the limit. I'm sweating like crazy, my shirt's soaked and heavy. I have to go over to the cooler a few times to gulp down water.

I go through the machines in the usual order, my mind filled with Miss Saeki. About the sex we had. I try to clear my head, blank everything out, but it's not easy. I focus on my muscles, absorb myself in the routine. The same machines as always, same weights, same number of reps. Prince is singing "Sexy Motherfucker" now. The end of my penis is still a bit sore and stings a little when I take a leak. The tip's red. My fresh-from-the-foreskin cock is still plenty young and tender. Condensed sexual fantasies, Prince's slippery voice, quotes from all kinds of books-the whole confused mess swirls around in my brain, and my head feels like it's about to burst.

I take a shower, change into fresh underwear, and take the bus back to the station. Hungry, I duck inside a diner and have a quick meal. As I'm eating I realize this is where I ate on my first day in Takamatsu. Which gets me wondering how many days I've been here. It's been a week or so since I started staying at the library, so I must have gotten to Shikoku about three weeks ago.

I have some tea after I'm finished eating and watch the people hustling back and forth in front of the station. They're all headed somewhere. If I wanted to, I could join them. Take a train to some other place. Throw away everything here, head off somewhere I've never been, start from scratch. Like turning a new page in a notebook. I could go to Hiroshima, Fukuoka, wherever. Nothing's keeping me here. I'm one hundred percent free. Everything I need to get by for a while is in my backpack. Clothes, toilet kit, sleeping bag. I've hardly touched the cash I took from my father's study.

But I know I can't go anywhere.

"But you can't go anywhere, you know that very well," the boy named Crow says.

You held Miss Saeki, came inside her so many times. And she took it all. Your penis is still stinging, still remembering how it felt to be inside her. One of the places that's just for you. You think of the library. The tranquil, silent books lining the stacks. You think of Oshima. Your room. Kafka on the Shore hanging on the wall, the fifteen-year-old girl gazing at the painting. You shake your head. There's no way you can leave here. You aren't free. But is that what you really want? To be free?

Inside the station I pass by patrolmen making their rounds, but they don't pay me any mind. Seems like every other guy I pass is some tanned kid my age shouldering a backpack. And I'm just one of them, melting into the scenery. No need to get all jumpy. Just act natural, and nobody'll notice me.

I jump on the little two-car train and return to the library.

"Hey, you're back," Oshima says. He looks at my backpack, dumbfounded. "My word, do you always lug around so much luggage with you? You're a regular Linus."

I boil some water and have a cup of tea. Oshima's twirling his usual long, freshly sharpened pencil. Where his pencils wind up when they get too short I have no idea.

"That backpack's like your symbol of freedom," he comments.

"Guess so," I say.

"Having an object that symbolizes freedom might make a person happier than actually getting the freedom it represents."