“I’m sure of it,” Aomame said.

“I checked around that humble building he lives in. All looks clear to me. No suspicious characters hanging around. Bobblehead’s apartment is deserted. Everything’s quiet, but not too quiet. Those guys took care of the article during the night and left. They probably thought it wouldn’t be good to stay too long. I made sure of this, so I don’t think I overlooked anything.”

“Good.”

“Probably, though, is the operative word here, at least for now. The situation is changing by the moment. And obviously I’m not perfect. I might be overlooking something important. It is possible that those guys might turn out to be one notch ahead of me.”

“Which is why it all comes down to me needing to protect myself.”

“As I said.”

“Thank you for everything. I’m very grateful to you.”

“I don’t know what you plan to do from now on,” Tamaru said, “but if you do go somewhere far away, and I never see you again, I know I’ll feel a little sad. You’re a rare sort of character, a type I’ve seldom come across before.”

Aomame smiled into the phone. “That’s pretty much the impression I wanted to leave you with.”

“Madame needs you. Not for the work you do, but on a personal level, as a companion. So I know she feels quite sad that she has to say good-bye like this. She can’t come to the phone now. I hope you’ll understand.”

“I do,” Aomame said. “I might have trouble, too, if I had to talk with her.”

“You said you’re going far away,” Tamaru said. “How far away are we talking about?”

“It’s a distance that can’t be measured.”

“Like the distance that separates one person’s heart from another’s.”

Aomame closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She was on the verge of tears, but was able to hold it together.

“I’m praying that everything will go well,” Tamaru said quietly.

“I’m sorry, but I may have to hold on to the Heckler & Koch,” Aomame said.

“That’s fine. It’s my gift to you. If it gets troublesome to have, just toss it into Tokyo Bay. The world will take one small step closer to disarmament.”

“I might end up never firing the pistol. Contrary to Chekhov’s principle.”

“That’s fine, too,” Tamaru said. “Nothing could be better than not firing it. We’re drawing close to the end of the twentieth century. Things are different from back in Chekhov’s time. No more horse-drawn carriages, no more women in corsets. Somehow the world survived the Nazis, the atomic bomb, and modern music. Even the way novels are composed has changed drastically. So it’s nothing to worry about. But I do have a question. You and Tengo are going to meet on the slide tonight at seven.”

“If things work out,” Aomame said.

“If you do see him, what are you going to do there?”

“We’re going to look at the moon.”

“Very romantic,” Tamaru said, gently.

CHAPTER 27

Tengo

THE WHOLE WORLD MAY NOT BE ENOUGH

On Wednesday morning when the phone rang, Tengo was still asleep. He hadn’t been able to fall asleep until nearly dawn, and the whiskey he had drunk still remained in him. He got out of bed, and was surprised to see how light it was outside.

“Tengo Kawana?” a man said. It was a voice he had never heard before.

“Yes,” Tengo replied. The man’s voice was quiet and businesslike, and he was sure it must be more paperwork regarding his father’s death. But his alarm clock showed it was just before eight a.m. Not the time that a city office or funeral home would be calling.

“I am sorry to be calling so early, but I was rather in a hurry.”

Something urgent. “What is it?” Tengo’s brain was still fuzzy.

“Do you recall the name Aomame?” the man asked.

Aomame? His hangover and sleepiness vanished. His mind reset quickly, like after a short blackout in a stage play. Tengo regripped the receiver.

“Yes, I do,” he replied.

“It’s quite an unusual name.”

“We were in the same class in elementary school,” Tengo said, somehow able to get his voice back to normal.

The man paused. “Mr. Kawana, do you have interest at this moment in talking about Aomame?”

Tengo found the man’s way of speaking odd. His diction was unique, like listening to lines from an avant-garde translated play.

“If you do not have any interest, then it will be a waste of time for both of us. I’ll end this conversation right away.”

“I am interested,” Tengo said hurriedly. “Sorry, but what is your connection here?”

“I have a message from her,” the man said, ignoring his question. “Aomame is hoping to see you. What about you, Mr. Kawana? Would you care to see her as well?”

“I would,” Tengo said. He coughed and cleared his throat. “I have been wanting to see her for a long time.”

“Fine. She wants to see you. And you are hoping to see her.”

Tengo suddenly realized how cold the room was. He grabbed a nearby cardigan and threw it over his pajamas.

“So what should I do?” Tengo asked.

“Can you come to the slide after dark?” the man said.

“The slide?” Tengo asked. What was this guy talking about?

“She said if I told you that, you would understand. She would like you to come to the top of the slide. I’m merely telling you what Aomame said.”

Tengo’s hand went to his hair, which was a mass of cowlicks and knots after sleeping. The slide. Where I saw the two moons. It’s got to be that slide.

“I think I understand,” he replied, his voice dry.

“Fine. Also, if there is something valuable you would like to take with you, make sure you have it on you. So you’re all set to move on, far away.”

“Something valuable I would like to take with me?” Tengo repeated in surprise.

“Something you don’t want to leave behind.”

Tengo pondered this. “I’m not sure I totally understand, but by moving on far away, do you mean never coming back here?”

“I wouldn’t know,” the man said. “As I said previously, I am merely transmitting her message.”

Tengo ran his fingers through his tangled hair and considered this. Move on? “I might have a fair amount of papers I would want to bring.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” the man said. “You are free to choose whatever you like. However, when it comes to luggage, I have been asked to tell you that you should be able to keep both hands free.”

“Keep both hands free,” Tengo repeated. “So, a suitcase wouldn’t work, would it?”

“I wouldn’t think so.”

From the man’s voice it was hard to guess his age, looks, or build. It was the sort of voice that provided no tangible clues. Tengo felt he wouldn’t remember the voice at all, as soon as the man hung up. Individuality or emotions—assuming there were any to begin with—were hidden deep down, out of sight.

“That’s all that I need to relay,” the man said.

“Is Aomame well?” Tengo asked.

“Physically, she’s fine,” the man said, choosing his words carefully. “Though right now she’s caught in a somewhat tense situation. She has to watch her every move. One false step and it might all be over.”

“All be over,” Tengo repeated mechanically.

“It would be best not to be too late,” the man said. “Time has become an important factor.”

Time has become an important factor, Tengo repeated to himself. Was there an issue with this man’s choice of words? Or am I too much on edge?

“I think I can be at the slide at seven tonight,” Tengo said. “If for some reason I’m not able to come tonight, I’ll be there tomorrow at the same time.”

“Understood. And you know which slide we’re talking about.”

“I think so.”

Tengo glanced at the clock. He had eleven hours to go.

“By the way, I heard that your father passed away on Sunday. My deepest condolences.”