“Tengo, it’s been a while,” Komatsu said. His voice sounded like the old Komatsu. Smooth, a bit forced, difficult to pin down.

“I took two weeks off from work and was in Chiba. I just got back last night.”

“You said your father wasn’t doing so well. It must have been hard on you.”

“Not really. He’s in a deep coma, so I just spent time with him, gazing at his sleeping face. The rest of the time I was at the inn, writing.”

“Still, you’re talking about a life-or-death situation, so it couldn’t have been easy for you.”

Tengo changed the subject. “When we talked last, quite a while ago, you mentioned having to talk with me about something.”

“I remember,” Komatsu said. “I would like to have a nice long talk with you, if you’re free?”

“If it’s something important, maybe the sooner the better?”

“Yes, sooner is better.”

“Tonight could work for me.”

“That would be fine. I’m free tonight, too. Say, seven?”

“Seven it is,” Tengo said.

Komatsu told him to meet him in a small bar near his office, a place Tengo had been to a number of times. “It’s open on Sundays,” Komatsu added, “but there are hardly any people there then. So we can have a nice, quiet talk.”

“Is this going to be a long story?”

Komatsu thought about this. “I’m not sure. Until I actually tell it to you, I have no idea how long it will be.”

“That’s all right. I’ll be happy to listen. Because we’re in the same boat together, right? Or have you changed to another?”

“No, not at all,” Komatsu said, his tone more serious. “We’re still in the same boat. Anyway, I’ll see you at seven. I’ll tell you everything then.”

After he hung up, Tengo sat down at his desk, switched on his word processor, and typed up the story he had written out in fountain pen at the inn in Chikura. As he reread the story, he pictured the town in his mind: the sanatorium, the faces of the three nurses; the wind from the sea rustling through the pine trees, the pure white seagulls floating up above. Tengo stood up, pulled back the curtains, opened the sliding glass door, and deeply inhaled the cold air.

Tengo you are back from the cat town and are reading this letter that’s good

So wrote Fuka-Eri in her letter. But this apartment he had returned to was under surveillance. There could even be a hidden camera right here in the room. Anxious now that he had thought of this, Tengo scoured every corner of the apartment. But he found no hidden camera, no electronic bugs. This was, after all, an old, tiny, one-room unit, and anything like that would be next to impossible to keep hidden.

Tengo kept typing his manuscript until it grew dark. It took him much longer than he expected because he rewrote parts as he typed. He stopped for a moment to turn on the desk lamp and realized that the crow hadn’t come by today. He could tell when it came by from the sound, the large wings rubbing against the window. It left behind faint smudge marks on the glass, like a code waiting to be deciphered.

At five thirty he made a simple dinner. He wasn’t that hungry, but he had barely eaten anything for lunch. Best to get something in my stomach, he figured. He made a tomato and wakame salad and ate a slice of toast. At six fifteen he pulled on a black, high-neck sweater and an olive-green corduroy blazer and left the apartment. As he exited the front door he stopped and looked around again, but nothing caught his eye—no man hiding in the shadows of a telephone pole, no suspicious-looking car parked nearby. Even the crow wasn’t there. But this made Tengo all the more uneasy. All the seemingly benign things around him seemed to be watching him. Who knew if the people around—the housewife with her shopping basket; the silent old man taking his dog for a walk; the high school students, tennis rackets slung over their shoulders, pedaling by, ignoring him—might be part of a cleverly disguised Sakigake surveillance team.

I’m being paranoid, Tengo told himself. I need to be careful, but it’s no good to get overly jumpy. He hurried on toward the station, shooting an occasional glance behind him to make sure he wasn’t being followed. If he was being shadowed, Tengo was sure he would know it. His peripheral vision was better than most people’s, and he had excellent eyesight. After glancing back three times, he was certain that there was no one tailing him.

He arrived at the bar at five minutes before seven. Komatsu was not there yet, and Tengo was the first customer of the evening. A lush arrangement of bright flowers was in a large vase on the counter and the smell of freshly cut greenery wafted toward him. Tengo sat in a booth in the back and ordered a draft beer. He took a paperback out of the pocket of his jacket and began reading.

Komatsu came at seven fifteen. He had on a tweed jacket, a light cashmere sweater, a cashmere muffler, wool trousers, and suede shoes. His usual outfit. High-quality, tasteful clothes, nicely worn out. When he wore these, the clothes looked like he had been born in them. Maybe any new clothes he bought he then slept in and rolled around in. Maybe he washed them over and over and laid them out to dry in the shade. Only once they were broken in and faded would he wear them in front of others. At any rate, the clothes did make him look like a veteran editor. From the way he was dressed, that was the only possible thing he could be. Komatsu sat down across from Tengo and also ordered a draft beer.

“You seem the same as ever,” Komatsu commented. “How is the new novel coming?”

“I’m getting there, slowly but surely.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Writers have to keep on writing if they want to mature, like caterpillars endlessly chewing on leaves. It’s like I told you—taking on the rewrite of Air Chrysalis would have a good influence on your own writing. Was I right?”

Tengo nodded. “You were. Doing that rewrite helped me learn a lot about fiction writing. I started noticing things I had never noticed before.”

“Not to brag or anything, but I know exactly what you mean. You just needed the right opportunity.”

“But I also had a lot of hard experiences because of it. As you are aware.”

Komatsu’s mouth curled up neatly in a smile, like a crescent moon in winter. It was the kind of smile that was hard to read.

“To get something important, people have to pay a price. That’s the rule the world operates by.”

“You may be right. But I can’t tell the difference between what’s important and the price you have to pay. It has all gotten too complicated.”

“Complicated it definitely is. It’s like trying to carry on a phone conversation when the wires are crossed. Absolutely,” Komatsu said, frowning. “By the way, do you know where Fuka-Eri is now?”

“I don’t know where she is at present, no,” Tengo said, choosing his words carefully.

“At present,” Komatsu repeated meaningfully.

Tengo said nothing.

“But until a short while ago she was living in your apartment,” Komatsu said. “At least, that’s what I hear.”

Tengo nodded. “That’s right. She was at my place for about three months.”

“Three months is a long time,” said Komatsu. “And you never told anybody.”

“She told me not to tell anyone, so I didn’t. Including you.”

“But now she isn’t there anymore.”

“Right. She took off when I was in Chikura, and left behind a letter. I don’t know where she is now.”

Komatsu took out a cigarette, stuck it in his mouth, and lit a match. He narrowed his eyes and looked at Tengo.

“After she left your place Fuka-Eri went back to Professor Ebisuno’s house, on top of the mountain in Futamatao,” he said. “Professor Ebisuno contacted the police and withdrew the missing person’s report, since she had just gone off on her own and hadn’t been kidnapped. The police must have interviewed her about what happened. She is a minor, after all. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s an article in the paper about it before long, though I doubt it will say much. Since nothing criminal was involved, apparently.”