It was a quiet Sunday. The warm sunshine had led many people to the playground across the road. Parents stood around, their children playing in the sandbox or on the swings. Some kids were playing on the slide. Elderly people sat on the benches, intently watching the children at play. Aomame went out on her balcony, sat on her garden chair, and half-heartedly watched through a gap in the screen. It was a peaceful scene. Time was marching on in the world. Nobody there was under threat of death, nobody there was on the trail of a killer. Nobody there had a fully loaded 9mm automatic pistol wrapped in tights in her dresser drawer.

Will I ever be able to participate in that quiet, normal world again? Aomame asked herself. Will there ever come a day when I can lead this little one by the hand, go to the park, and let it play on the swings, on the slides? Lead my daily life without thinking about who I will kill next, or who will kill me? Is that possible in this 1Q84 world? Or is it only possible in some other world? And most important of all—will Tengo be beside me?

Aomame stopped looking at the park and went back inside. She closed the sliding glass door and shut the curtains. She couldn’t hear the children’s voices now and a sadness tugged at her. She was cut off from everything, stuck in a place that was locked from the inside. I’ll stop watching the playground during the day. Tengo won’t come in the daytime. What he was looking for was a clear view of the two moons.

After she had a simple dinner and washed the dishes, Aomame dressed warmly and went out on the balcony once more. She lay the blanket on her lap and sank back in the chair. It was a windless night. The kind of clouds that watercolor artists like lingered faintly in the sky, a test of the artist’s delicate brushstrokes. The larger moon, which was not blocked by the clouds, was two-thirds full and shone bright, distinct light down on the earth below. At this time of evening, from where she sat Aomame couldn’t see the second, smaller moon. It was just behind a building, but Aomame knew it was there. She could feel its presence. No doubt it would soon appear before her.

Ever since she had gone into hiding, she had been able to intentionally shut thoughts out of her mind. Especially when she was on the balcony like this, gazing at the playground, she could make her mind a complete blank. She kept her eyes focused on the playground, especially on the slide, but she wasn’t thinking of anything—no, her mind might have been thinking of something, but this was mostly below the surface. What her mind was doing below the surface, she had no idea. At regular intervals something would float up, like sea turtles and porpoises poking their faces through the surface of the water to breathe. When that happened, she knew that indeed she had been thinking of something up till then. Then her consciousness, lungs full of fresh oxygen, sank back below the surface. It was gone again, and Aomame no longer thought of anything. She was a surveillance device, wrapped in a soft cocoon, her gaze absorbed in the slide.

She was seeing the park, but at the same time she was seeing nothing. If anything new came across her line of vision, her mind would react immediately. But right now nothing new was happening. There was no wind. The dark branches of the zelkova tree stuck out, unmoving, like sharp probes pointed toward the sky. The whole world was still. She looked at her watch. It was after eight. Today might end as always, with nothing out of the ordinary. A Sunday night, as quiet as could be.

The world stopped being still at exactly 8:23.

She suddenly noticed a man on top of the slide. He sat down and looked up at one part of the sky. Aomame’s heart shrunk to the size of a child’s fist, and stayed that size so long she was afraid it would never start pumping again. But it just as quickly swelled up to normal size and started beating again. With a dull sound it began furiously pumping fresh blood throughout her body. Aomame’s mind quickly broke through to the surface of the water, shook itself, and stood by, ready to take action.

It’s Tengo, she thought instinctively.

But once her vision cleared, she knew it wasn’t him. The man sitting there was short, like a child, with a large square head, wearing a knit hat. The knit hat was stretched out oddly because of the shape of his head. He had a green muffler wrapped around his neck and wore a navy-blue coat. The muffler was too long, and the buttons on his coat were straining around his stomach, ready to pop. Aomame knew this was the child she had seen last night coming out of the park. But this was no child. He was more near middle age. He was short and stocky, with short limbs. And his head was abnormally large, and misshapen.

Aomame remembered what Tamaru had said about the man with a head as large as a Fukusuke good-luck doll, the one they had nicknamed Bobblehead. The person who had been loitering around outside the Azabu Willow House, checking out the safe house. This man on top of the slide perfectly fit the description Tamaru had given her last night. That weird man hadn’t given up on his investigation, and now he had crept up on her. I have to get the pistol. Why of all nights did I leave it back in the bedroom? Aomame took a deep breath, let the chaos of her heart settle and her nerves calm down. I mustn’t panic. There’s no need for the pistol at this point.

The man wasn’t, after all, watching her building. Seated at the top of the slide, he was staring at the sky like Tengo had done, at the very same spot. And he seemed lost in thought. He didn’t move a muscle for the longest time, like he had forgotten how to move. He didn’t pay any attention to the direction of her room. This confused Aomame. What’s going on? This man came here searching for me. He’s probably a member of Sakigake. No doubt at all he’s a skilled pursuer. I mean, he was able to follow the trail all the way from the Azabu mansion to here. For all that, there he is now, defenseless, exposed, staring vacantly at the night sky.

Aomame stealthily rose to her feet, slid open the glass door a crack, slipped inside, and sat down in front of the phone. With trembling hands she began dialing Tamaru’s number. She had to report this to him—that she could see Bobblehead from where she was, on top of a slide in a playground across the street. Tamaru would decide what to do, and would no doubt deftly handle the situation. But after punching in the first four numbers she stopped, the receiver clutched in her hand, and bit her lip.

It’s too soon, Aomame thought. There are still too many things we don’t know about this man. If Tamaru simply sees him as a risk factor and takes care of him, all those things we don’t know about him will remain unknown. Come to think of it, the man is doing exactly what Tengo did the other day. The same slide, the same pose, the same part of the sky, as if he’s retracing Tengo’s movements. He must be seeing the two moons as well. Aomame understood this. Maybe this man and Tengo are linked in some way. And maybe this man hasn’t noticed yet that I’m hiding out in an apartment in this building, which is why he’s sitting there, defenseless, his back to me. The more she thought about it, the more persuasive she found this theory. If that’s true, then following the man might lead me right to Tengo. Instead of searching me out, this guy can serve as my guide. The thought made her heart contract even more, and then start to pound. She laid down the phone.

I’ll tell Tamaru about it later, she decided. There’s something I have to do first. Something risky, because it involves the pursued following the pursuer. And this man is no doubt a pro. But even so I can’t let this golden opportunity slip by. This may be my last chance. And from the way he looks, he seems to be in a bit of a daze, at least for the moment.