Tengo instinctively thanked him, but then wondered how this man could possibly know about his father.

“Could you tell me a little more about Aomame?” Tengo said. “For instance, where she is, and what she does?”

“She’s single. She works as a fitness instructor at a sports club in Hiroo. She’s a first-rate instructor, but circumstances have changed and she has taken leave from her job. And, by sheer coincidence, she has been living not far from you. For anything beyond that, I think it best you hear directly from her.”

“Even what sort of tense situation she’s in right now?”

The man didn’t respond. Either he didn’t want to answer or he felt there was no need. For whatever reason, people like this seemed to flock to Tengo.

“Today at seven p.m., then, on top of the slide,” the man said.

“Just a second,” Tengo said quickly. “I have a question. I was warned by someone that I was being watched, and that I should be careful. Excuse me for asking, but did they mean you?”

“No, they didn’t mean me,” the man said immediately. “It was probably someone else who was watching you. But it is a good idea to be cautious, as that person pointed out.”

“Does my being under surveillance have something to do with Aomame’s unusual situation?”

“Somewhat tense situation,” the man said, correcting him. “Yes, most likely there is some sort of connection.”

“Is this dangerous?”

The man paused, and chose his words carefully, as if separating out varieties of beans from a pile. “If you call not being able to see Aomame anymore something dangerous, then yes, there is definitely danger involved.”

Tengo mentally rearranged this man’s roundabout phrasing into something he could understand. He didn’t have a clue about the background or the circumstances, but it was obvious that things were indeed fraught.

“If things don’t go well, we might not be able to see each other ever again.”

“Exactly.”

“I understand. I’ll be careful,” Tengo said.

“I’m sorry to have called so early. It would appear that I woke you up.”

Without pausing, the man hung up. Tengo gazed at the black receiver in his hand. As he had predicted, as soon as they hung up, the man’s voice had vanished from his memory. Tengo looked at the clock again. Eight ten. How should I kill all this time between now and seven p.m.? he wondered.

He started by taking a shower, washing his hair, and untangling it as best he could. Then he stood in front of the mirror and shaved, brushed his teeth, and flossed. He drank some tomato juice from the fridge, boiled water, ground coffee beans and made coffee, toasted a slice of bread. He set the timer and cooked a soft-boiled egg. He concentrated on each action, taking more time than usual. But still it was only nine thirty.

Tonight I will see Aomame on top of the slide.

The thought sent his senses spinning. His hands and legs and face all wanted to go in different directions, and he couldn’t gather his emotions in one place. Whatever he tried to do, his concentration was shot. He couldn’t read, couldn’t write. He couldn’t sit still in one place. The only thing he seemed capable of was washing the dishes, doing the laundry, straightening up his drawers, making his bed. Every five minutes he would stop whatever he was doing and glance at the clock. Thinking about time only seemed to slow it down.

Aomame knows.

He was standing at the sink, sharpening a cleaver that really didn’t need to be sharpened. She knows I’ve been to the slide in that playground a number of times. She must have seen me, sitting there, staring up at the sky. Otherwise it makes no sense. He pictured what he looked like on top of the slide, lit up by the mercury-vapor lamp. He had had no sense of being observed. Where had she been watching him from?

It doesn’t matter, Tengo thought. No big deal. No matter where she saw me from, she recognized me. The thought filled him with joy. Just as I’ve been thinking of her, she’s been thinking of me. Tengo could hardly believe it—that in this frantic, labyrinth-like world, two people’s hearts—a boy’s and a girl’s—could be connected, unchanged, even though they hadn’t seen each other for twenty years.

But why didn’t Aomame call out to me then, when she saw me? Things would be so much simpler if she had. And how did she know where I live? How did she—or that man—find out my phone number? He didn’t like to get calls, and had an unlisted number. You couldn’t get it even if you called the operator.

There was a lot that remained unknown and mysterious, and the lines that constructed this story were complicated. Which lines connected to which others, and what sort of cause-and-effect relationship existed, was beyond him. Still, ever since Fuka-Eri showed up in his life, he felt he had been living in a place where questions outnumbered answers. But he had a faint sense that this chaos was, ever so slowly, heading toward a denouement.

At seven this evening, though, at least some questions will be cleared up, Tengo thought. We’ll meet on top of the slide. Not as a helpless ten-year-old boy and girl, but as an independent, grown-up man and woman. As a math teacher in a cram school and a sports club instructor. What will we talk about then? I have no idea. But we will talk—we need to fill in the blanks between us, exchange information about each other. And—to borrow the phrasing of the man who called—we might then move on somewhere. So I need to make sure to bring what’s important to me, what I don’t want to leave behind—and pack it away so that I can have both hands free.

I have no regrets about leaving here. I lived here for seven years, taught three days a week at the cram school, but never once felt it was home. Like a floating island bobbing along in the flow, it was just a temporary place to rest, and nothing more. My girlfriend is no longer here. Fuka-Eri, too, who shared the place briefly—gone. Tengo had no idea where these two women were now, or what they were doing. They had simply, and quietly, vanished from his life. If he left the cram school, someone else would surely take over. The world would keep on turning, even without him. If Aomame wanted to move on somewhere with him, there was nothing to keep him from going.

What could be the important thing he should take with him? Fifty thousand yen in cash and a plastic debit card—that was the extent of the assets he had at hand. There was also one million yen in a savings account. No—there was more. His share of the royalties from Air Chrysalis was in the account as well. He had been meaning to return it to Komatsu but hadn’t gotten around to it. Then there was the printout of the novel he had begun. He couldn’t leave that behind. It had no real value to anyone else, but to Tengo it was precious. He put the manuscript in a paper bag, then stuffed it into the hard, russet nylon shoulder bag he used when he went to the cram school. The bag was really heavy now. He crammed floppy disks into the pocket of his leather jacket. He couldn’t very well take his word processor along with him, but he did add his notebooks and fountain pen to his luggage. What else? he wondered.

He remembered the envelope the lawyer had given him in Chikura. Inside were his father’s savings book and seal, a copy of their family record, and the mysterious family photo (if indeed that was what it was). It was probably best to take that with him. His elementary school report cards and the NHK commendations he would leave behind. He decided against taking a change of clothes or toiletries. They wouldn’t fit in the now-bulging bag, and besides, he could buy them as needed.

Once he had packed everything in the bag, he had nothing left to do. There were no dishes to wash, no shirts left to iron. He looked at the wall clock again. Ten thirty. He thought he should call his friend to take over his classes at the cram school, but then remembered that his friend was always in a terrible mood if you phoned before noon.