But even if he did manage to find the Society’s phone number and get in touch with them, it was hard to imagine that such a wary organization would freely disclose information on an individual believer. No doubt they had their reasons for being so guarded. Many people hated them for their extreme, eccentric doctrines and for the close-minded nature of their faith. They had caused several social problems, as a result of which their treatment often bordered on persecution. It had probably become second nature for them to protect their community from a less-than-welcoming outside world.

In any case, Tengo’s search for Aomame had been shut down, at least for now. He could not immediately think of what additional search methods might remain. Aomame was such an unusual name, you could never forget it once you’d heard it. But in trying to trace the footsteps of one single human being who bore that name, he quickly collided with a hard wall. It might be quicker to go around asking Society of Witnesses members directly. Headquarters would probably doubt his motives and refuse to tell him anything, but if he were to ask some individual member, he felt, they would probably be kind enough to tell him. But Tengo did not know even one member of the Society of Witnesses. Come to think of it, no one from the Society had knocked on his door for a good ten years now. Why did they not come when you wanted them and come only when you didn’t want them?

One possibility was to put a classified ad in the paper. “Aomame, please contact me immediately. Kawana.” Stupid sounding. Tengo couldn’t believe that Aomame would bother to contact him even if she saw such an ad. It would probably just end up scaring her away. “Kawana” was not such a common name, either, but Tengo couldn’t believe that Aomame would still remember it. Kawana—who’s that? She simply wouldn’t contact him. And besides, who read classified ads, anyway?

Another approach might be to hire a private detective. They should know how to look for people. They have their methods and connections. The clues Tengo already had might be enough for them to find her right away. And it probably wouldn’t be too expensive. But that might be something to set aside as a last resort, Tengo thought. He would try a little harder to see what he could come up with himself.

When the daylight began to fade, he went home to find Fuka-Eri sitting on the floor, listening to records—old jazz records left by his girlfriend. Record jackets were spread on the floor—Duke Ellington, Benny Goodman, Billie Holliday. Spinning on the turntable just then was Louis Armstrong singing “Chantez les Bas,” a memorable song. It reminded him of his girlfriend. They had often listened to this one between bouts of lovemaking. Near the end, the trombonist, Trummy Young, gets carried away, forgets to end his solo at the agreed-upon point, and plays an extra eight bars. “Here, this is the part,” his girlfriend had explained to him. When it ended, it was Tengo’s job to get out of bed naked, go to the next room, and turn the LP over to play the second side. He felt a twinge of nostalgia recalling those days. Though he never thought the relationship would last forever, he had not expected it to end so abruptly.

Tengo felt odd seeing Fuka-Eri listening intently to the records that Kyoko Yasuda had left behind. Wrinkling her brow in complete concentration, she seemed to be trying to hear something beyond the old music, straining to see the shadow of something in its tones.

“You like this record?”

“I listened to it a lot,” Fuka-Eri said. “Is that okay.”

“Sure, it’s okay. But aren’t you bored here all by yourself?”

Fuka-Eri gave her head a little shake. “I have stuff to think about.”

Tengo wanted to ask Fuka-Eri about what had happened between them during the thunderstorm. Why did you do that? He couldn’t believe that Fuka-Eri had any sexual desire for him. It must have been an act that somehow took shape unconnected with sex. If so, what possible meaning could it have had?

Even if he asked her about it outright, though, he doubted he would receive a straight answer. And Tengo couldn’t quite bring himself to broach a subject like that directly on such a peaceful, quiet September evening. It was an act that had been performed in hiding at a dark hour in a dark place in the midst of a raging thunderstorm. Brought out into everyday circumstances, the nature of its meaning might change.

So Tengo approached the question from a different angle, one that admitted a simple yes-or-no answer. “You don’t have periods?”

“No” was Fuka-Eri’s curt reply.

“You’ve never had even one?”

“No, not even one.”

“This may be none of my business, but you’re seventeen years old. It’s probably not normal that you’ve never had a period.”

Fuka-Eri gave a little shrug.

“Have you seen a doctor about it?”

Fuka-Eri shook her head. “It wouldn’t do any good.”

“Why wouldn’t it do any good?”

Fuka-Eri did not answer. She gave no sign that she had even heard the question. Maybe her ears had a special valve that sensed a question’s appropriateness or inappropriateness, opening and closing as needed, like a mermaid’s gills.

“Are the Little People involved in this, too?” Tengo asked.

Again no answer.

Tengo sighed. He couldn’t think of anything else to ask that would enable him to approach a clarification of last night’s events. The narrow, uncertain path gave out at that point, and only a deep forest lay ahead. He checked his footing, scanned his surroundings, and looked up to the heavens. This was always the problem with talking to Fuka-Eri. All roads inevitably gave out. A Gilyak might be able to continue on even after the road ended, but for Tengo it was impossible.

Instead he brought up a new subject. “I’m looking for a certain person,” he said. “A woman.”

There was no point in talking about this to Fuka-Eri. Tengo was fully aware of that. But he wanted to talk about it to someone. He wanted to hear himself telling someone—anyone—what he was thinking about Aomame. Unless he did so, he felt Aomame would grow even more distant from him.

“I haven’t seen her for twenty years. I was ten when I last saw her. She and I are the same age. We were in the same class in elementary school. I’ve tried different ways of finding her without any luck.”

The record ended. Fuka-Eri lifted it from the turntable, narrowed her eyes, and sniffed the vinyl a few times. Then, handling it carefully by the edges so as not to leave fingerprints on it, she slipped it into its paper envelope and slid the envelope into the record jacket—gently, lovingly, like transferring a sleeping kitten to its bed.

“You want to see this person,” Fuka-Eri asked without a question mark.

“Yes, she is very important to me.”

“Have you been looking for her for twenty years,” Fuka-Eri asked.

“No, I haven’t,” Tengo said. While searching for the proper words to continue, Tengo folded his hands on the table. “To tell you the truth, I just started looking for her today.”

“Today,” she said.

“If she’s so important to you, why have you never looked for her until today?” Tengo asked for Fuka-Eri. “Good question.”

Fuka-Eri looked at him in silence.

Tengo put his thoughts into some kind of order. Then he said, “I’ve probably been taking a long detour. This girl named Aomame has been—how should I put this?—at the center of my consciousness all this time without a break. She has functioned as an important anchor to my very existence. In spite of that fact—is it?—I guess I haven’t been able to fully grasp her significance to me precisely because she has been all too close to the center.”

Fuka-Eri stared at Tengo. It was impossible to tell from her expression whether this young girl had the slightest comprehension of what he was saying. But that hardly mattered. Tengo was half talking to himself.