She thinks about it for a while. "You may be right," she says. "But how do you know that?"

"Because I'm doing the same thing."

"Making up for lost time?"

"Yes," I say. "A lot of things were stolen from my childhood. Lots of important things. And now I have to get them back."

"In order to keep on living."

I nod. "I have to. People need a place they can go back to. There's still time to make it, I think. For me, and for you."

She closes her eyes, and tents her fingers on top of her desk. Like she's resigned to it, she opens her eyes again. "Who are you?" she asks. "And why do you know so much about everything?"

You tell her she must know who you are. I'm Kafka on the Shore, you say. Your lover-and your son. The boy named Crow. And the two of us can't be free. We're caught up in a whirlpool, pulled beyond time. Somewhere, we were struck by lightning. But not the kind of lightning you can see or hear.

That night you make love again. You listen as the blank within her is filled. It's a faint sound, like fine sand on a shore crumbling in the moonlight. You hold your breath, listening. You're inside your theory now. Then you're outside. And inside again, then outside. You inhale, hold it, exhale. Inhale, hold it, exhale. Prince sings on, like some mollusk in your head. The moon rises, the tide comes in. Seawater flows into a river. A branch of the dogwood just outside the window trembles nervously. You hold her close, she buries her face in your chest. You feel her breath against your bare skin. She traces your muscles, one by one. Finally, she gently licks your swollen penis, as if healing it. You come again, in her mouth. She swallows it down, as if every drop is precious. You kiss her vagina, touching every soft, warm spot with your tongue. You become someone else there, something else. You are somewhere else.

"There's nothing inside me you need to know," she says. Until Monday morning dawns you hold each other, listening to time passing by.

The massive bank of thunderclouds crossed the city at a lethargic pace, letting loose a flurry of lightning bolts as if probing every nook and cranny for a long-lost morality, finally dwindling to a faint, angry echo from the eastern sky. And right then the violent rain came to a sudden halt, followed by an unearthly silence. Hoshino stood up and opened the window to let in some air. The storm clouds had vanished, the sky covered once more by a thin membrane of pale clouds. All the buildings were wet, the moist cracks in their walls dark, like old people's veins. Water dripped off power lines and formed puddles on the ground. Birds flew out from where they'd sought shelter, chirping loudly as they vied for the bugs that were out themselves now that the storm had abated.

Hoshino rotated his neck from side to side a couple of times, checking out his spine. He gave one big stretch, sat down beside the window, and gazed outside, then pulled out his pack of Marlboros and lit up.

"You know, though, Mr. Nakata, after all that effort to turn that stone over and open the entrance, nothing out of the ordinary happened. No frog appeared, no demons, nothing strange at all. Which is fine by me, of course… The stage was set with all that noisy thunder, but I gotta tell you I'm kind of disappointed."

He didn't get a reply, so he turned around. Nakata was leaning forward with both hands on the floor and his eyes closed. The old man looked like a feeble bug.

"What's the matter? Are you all right?" Hoshino asked.

"I'm sorry, I just seem to be a little tired. Nakata doesn't feel so well. I'd like to lie down and sleep for a while."

Nakata's face did look awfully pale. His eyes were sunken, his fingers trembling. Just a few hours was all it took, it seemed, for him to have aged terribly.

"Okay, I'll lay out the futon for you. Feel free to sleep as much as you want," Hoshino said. "But are you sure you're okay? Does your stomach hurt? Do you feel like you're gonna hurl? Any ringing in your ears? Or maybe you have to take a dump. Should I get a doctor? Do you have insurance?"

"Yes, the Governor gave me an insurance card, and I keep it safe in my bag."

"That's good," Hoshino said, dragging the futon out of the closet and spreading it out. "I know this isn't the time to go into details, but it isn't the Governor of Tokyo who gave you the card. It's a National Health card, so it's the Japanese government that issued it to you. I don't know all that much about it, but I'm sure that's the case. The Governor himself isn't looking after every little detail of your life, okay? So forget about him for a while."

"Nakata understands. The Governor didn't give me the insurance card. I'll try to forget about him for a while. Anyway, I don't think I need a doctor. If I can just get some sleep I should be all right."

"Wait a sec. You're not going to pull one of those thirty-six-hour marathons, are you?"

"I don't know. I don't decide how long I'm going to sleep and then stick to that."

"Well, I guess that makes sense," Hoshino admitted. "Nobody does that. Okay-just sleep as long as you like. It's been a rough day. All that thunder, plus talking with the stone, right? And that entrance thing opening up. Not something you see every day, that's for sure. You had to use your head a lot, so you must be tired. Don't worry about anything, just relax and catch some shut-eye. Let old Hoshino handle the rest."

"Much obliged. I'm always putting you out, aren't I? Nakata can never thank you enough for all you've done. If you hadn't been with me, I wouldn't have known what to do. And you have your own important work to do."

"Yeah, I guess so," Hoshino said in a gloomy voice. So many things had happened, he'd completely forgotten about his job. "Now that you mention it, I really should be getting back to work soon. The boss's blowing a gasket as we speak, I'll bet. I phoned him and said I had to take a few days off to take care of something, but haven't checked in since. Once I get back he'll really let me have it."

He lit up a fresh Marlboro, leisurely exhaling the smoke. He stared at a crow perched on top of a telephone pole and made silly faces at it. "But who cares? He can say what he likes-blow steam out of his ears for all I care. Look, I've been pulling more than my weight for years, working my tail off. Hey, Hoshino, we're shorthanded, so how 'bout making a night run to Hiroshima? Okay, boss, I'm on it… Always did what they told me to do, never a complaint. Thanks to which my back got shot to hell. If you didn't fix it for me things would've gone from bad to worse. I'm only in my mid-twenties, so why should I ruin my health over some crummy job, right? What's wrong with a few days off now and then? But you know, Mr. Nakata, I-"

Hoshino suddenly realized the old man was sound asleep. Eyes shut tight, face pointed toward the ceiling, lips firmly pressed together, Nakata was breathing peacefully. The flipped-over stone lay near his pillow.

Man, I've never seen anyone fall asleep as fast as him, Hoshino thought admiringly.

With time on his hands, he stretched out and watched some television, but he couldn't stand any of the insipid afternoon programs so he decided to go out. He'd run out of clean underwear and needed to buy some. He detested washing clothes. Better to buy some cheap underpants, he always figured, than bother with washing the old scuzzy ones. He went to the front desk of the inn to pay for the next day and told them his companion was asleep and they weren't to wake him up. "Not that you could if you tried," he added.

He wandered down the streets, sniffing the post-rain scent in the air, dressed in his usual Dragons cap, green-tinted Ray-Bans, and aloha shirt. He picked up a newspaper at a kiosk at the station and checked how the Dragons were doing-they lost to Hiroshima in an away game-then scanned the movie schedule and decided to see the latest Jackie Chan film. The timing was perfect. He asked directions at the police box and found out it was close by, so he walked. He bought his ticket, went inside, and watched the movie, munching on peanuts.