“Is this what you call the compensatory function?”

“Exactly. In joining forces, the man you love and my daughter have succeeded in giving rise to such a function. Which is to say that, in this world, you and Tengo are literally in step with each other.”

“But that is not simply a matter of chance, according to you. You say I was led into this world by some form of will. Is that it?”

“That is it exactly. You came with a purpose, led by a form of will, to this world of 1Q84. That you and Tengo have come to have a relationship here—in whatever form it might take—is by no means a product of chance.”

“What kind of will, and what kind of purpose?”

“It has not been given to me to explain that, sorry to say,” the man said.

“Why are you unable to explain it?”

“It is not that the meaning cannot be explained. But there are certain meanings that are lost forever the moment they are explained in words.”

“All right, then, let me try another question,” Aomame said. “Why did I have to be the one?”

“You still don’t understand why, do you?”

Aomame gave her head several strong shakes. “No, I don’t understand why. Not at all.”

“It is very simple, actually. It is because you and Tengo were so powerfully drawn to each other.”

Aomame maintained a long silence. She sensed a hint of perspiration oozing from the pores of her face. It felt as if her whole face were covered by a thin membrane invisible to the naked eye.

“Drawn to each other,” she said.

“Yes, to each other. Very powerfully”

An emotion resembling anger welled up inside her as if from nowhere, accompanied by a vague sense of nausea. “I can’t believe that. He couldn’t possibly remember me.”

“No, Tengo knows very well that you exist in this world, and he wants you. To this day, he has never once loved any woman other than you.”

Aomame was momentarily at a loss for words, during which time the violent thunder continued at short intervals, and rain seemed to have finally begun to fall. Large raindrops began pelting the hotel room window, but the sound barely reached Aomame.

The man said, “You can believe it or not as you wish. But you would do better to believe it because it is the unmistakable truth.”

“You mean to say that he still remembers me even though twenty years have gone by since we last met? Even though we never really spoke to each other?”

“In that empty classroom, you strongly gripped his hand. When you were ten years old. You had to summon up every bit of your courage to do it.”

Aomame twisted her face out of shape. “How could you possibly know such a thing?”

The man did not answer her. “Tengo never forgot about that. And he has continued to think of you all this time. You would do well to believe it. I know many things. For example, I know that, even now, you think of Tengo when you masturbate. You picture him. I am right about that, aren’t I?”

Aomame let her mouth fall open slightly, but she was at a total loss for words. All she did was take one shallow breath after another.

The man went on, “It is nothing to be ashamed of. It is a natural human function. Tengo does the same thing. He thinks of you at those times, even now.”

“But how could you possibly …?”

“How could I possibly know such things? By listening closely. That is my job—to listen to the voices.”

She wanted to laugh out loud, and, simultaneously, she wanted to cry. But she could do neither. She could only stay transfixed, somewhere between the two, inclining her center of gravity in neither direction, at a loss for words.

“You need not be afraid,” the man said.

“Afraid?”

“You are afraid, just as the people of the Vatican were afraid to accept the Copernican theory. Not even they believed in the infallibility of the Ptolemaic theory. They were afraid of the new situation that would prevail if they accepted the Copernican theory. They were afraid of having to reorder their minds to accept it. Strictly speaking, the Catholic Church has still not publicly accepted the Copernican theory. You are like them. You are afraid of having to shed the armor with which you have long defended yourself.”

Aomame covered her face with her hands and let out several convulsive sobs. This was not what she wanted to do, but she was unable to stop herself. She would have preferred to appear to be laughing, but that was out of the question.

“You and Tengo were, so to speak, carried into this world on the same train,” the man said softly. “By teaming up with my daughter, Tengo took steps against the Little People, and you are trying to obliterate me for other reasons. In other words, each of you, in your own way, is doing something dangerous in a very dangerous place.”

“And you are saying that some kind of will wanted us to do these things?”

“Perhaps.”

“For what conceivable purpose?” No sooner had the question left her mouth than Aomame realized it was pointless. There was no hope she would ever receive a reply.

“The most welcome resolution would be for the two of you to meet somewhere and leave this world hand in hand,” the man said, without answering her question. “But that would not be an easy thing to do.”

“Not be an easy thing to do,” Aomame repeated his words unconsciously.

“Not an easy thing to do, and, sad to say, that is putting it as mildly as possible. In fact, it is just about impossible. The adversary that you two are facing, whatever you care to call it, is a fierce power.”

“So then—” Aomame said, her voice dry. She cleared her throat. By now she had overcome her confusion. This is no time to cry, she thought. “So then comes your proposition, is that it? I give you a painless death, in return for which you can give me something—a different choice.”

“You’re very quick on the uptake,” the man said, still lying facedown. “That is correct. My proposition is a choice having to do with you and Tengo. It may not be the most pleasant choice. But at least it does give you room to choose.”

.    .    .

“The Little People are afraid of losing me,” the man said. “They still need me. I am useful to them as their human agent. Finding my replacement will not be easy for them. And at this point in time, they have not prepared my successor. Many difficult conditions have to be met in order to become their agent, and I happen to meet all of them, which makes me a rare find. They are afraid of losing me. If that were to happen, it would give rise to a temporary vacuum. This is why they are trying to prevent you from taking my life. They want to keep me alive a little while longer. The thunder you hear outside is a sign of their anger. But they can’t raise a hand against you directly. All they can do is warn you of their anger. For the same reason, they drove your friend to her death using possibly devious methods. And if things go on like this they will almost surely inflict some kind of harm upon Tengo.”

“Inflict harm on Tengo?”

“Tengo wrote a story about the Little People and their deeds. Eriko furnished the basic story, and Tengo converted it into an effective piece of writing. It was their collaborative effort, and it acted as an antibody, countering the momentum of the Little People. It was published as a book and became a bestseller, as a result of which, if only temporarily, the Little People found that many potential avenues had been closed for them, and limits were placed on several of their actions. You have probably heard of the book: it is called Air Chrysalis.”

Aomame nodded. “I’ve seen articles about the book in the newspaper. And the publisher’s advertisements. I haven’t read the book, though.”

“The one who did the actual writing of Air Chrysalis was Tengo. And now he is writing a new story of his own. In Air Chrysalis—which is to say, in its world with two moons—he discovered his own story. A superior Perceiver, Eriko inspired the story as an antibody inside him. Tengo seems to have possessed superior ability as a Receiver. That ability may be what brought you here—in other words, what put you onto that train.”