“BWV 846 to 893.”
Tengo mulled that one over. “The Well-Tempered Clavier, Books I and II.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you answer with the BWV numbers?”
“They’re easier to remember.”
The Well-Tempered Clavier was truly heavenly music for mathematicians. It was composed of prelude and fugue pairs in major and minor keys using all twelve tones of the scale, twenty-four pieces per book, forty-eight pieces in all, comprising a perfect cycle.
“How about other works?” Tengo asked.
“BWV 244.”
Tengo could not immediately recall which work of Bach’s had a BWV number of 244.
Fuka-Eri began to sing.
Buß’ und Reu’
Buß’ und Reu’
Knirscht das Sündenherz entzwei
Buß’ und Reu’
Buß’ und Reu’
Knirscht das Sündenherz entzwei
Knirscht das Sündenherz entzwei
Buß’ und Reu’ Buß’ und Reu’
Knirscht das Sündenherz entzwei
Buß’ und Reu’
Knirscht das Sündenherz entzwei
Daß die Tropfen meiner Zähren
Angenehme Spezerei
Treuer Jesu, dir gebären.
Tengo was momentarily dumbstruck. Her singing was not exactly on key, but her German pronunciation was amazingly clear and precise.
“ ‘St. Matthew Passion,’ ” Tengo said. “You know it by heart.”
“No I don’t,” the girl said.
Tengo wanted to say something, but the words would not come to him. All he could do was look down at his notes and move on to the next question.
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
Fuka-Eri shook her head.
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to get pregnant.”
“It’s possible to have a boyfriend without getting pregnant.”
Fuka-Eri said nothing but instead blinked several times.
“Why don’t you want to get pregnant?”
Fuka-Eri kept her mouth clamped shut. Tengo felt sorry for having asked such a stupid question.
“Okay, let’s stop,” Tengo said, returning the list to his briefcase. “We don’t really know what they’re going to ask, and you’ll be fine answering them any way you like. You can do it.”
“That’s good,” Fuka-Eri said with apparent relief.
“I’m sure you think it’s a waste of time to prepare these answers.”
Fuka-Eri gave a little shrug.
“I agree with you. I’m not doing this because I want to. Mr. Komatsu asked me to do it.”
Fuka-Eri nodded.
“But,” Tengo said, “please don’t tell anyone that I rewrote Air Chrysalis. You understand that, don’t you?”
Fuka-Eri nodded twice. “I wrote it by myself.”
“In any case, Air Chrysalis is your work alone and no one else’s. That has been clear from the outset.”
“I wrote it by myself,” Fuka-Eri said again.
“Did you read my rewritten Air Chrysalis?”
“Azami read it to me.”
“How did you like it?”
“You’re a good writer.”
“Which means you liked it, I suppose?”
“It’s like I wrote it,” Fuka-Eri said.
Tengo looked at her. She picked up her cocoa cup and took a sip. He had to struggle not to look at the lovely swell of her chest.
“I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “I really enjoyed rewriting Air Chrysalis. Of course, it was very hard work trying not to destroy what you’d done with it. So it’s very important to me to know whether you liked the finished product or not.”
Fuka-Eri nodded silently. Then, as if trying to ascertain something, she brought her hand up to her small, well-formed earlobe.
The waitress approached and refilled their water glasses. Tengo took a swallow to moisten his throat. Then, screwing up his courage, he gave voice to a thought that he had been toying with for a while.
“I have my own request to make of you now, if you don’t mind.”
“What’s that.”
“I’d like you to go to the press conference in the same clothes you’re wearing today.”
Fuka-Eri gave him a puzzled look. Then she looked down to check each article of clothing she had on, as if she had been unaware until this moment of what she was wearing.
“You want me to go wearing this,” she asked.
“Right. I’d like you to go to the press conference wearing exactly what you’re wearing now.”
“Why.”
“It looks good on you. It shows off the shape of your chest beautifully. This is strictly my own hunch, but I suspect the reporters won’t be able to stop themselves from looking down there and they’ll forget to ask you tough questions. Of course, if you don’t like the idea, that’s fine. I’m not insisting.”
Fuka-Eri said, “Azami picks all my clothes.”
“Not you?”
“I don’t care what I wear.”
“So Azami picked your outfit today?”
“Azami picked it.”
“Even so, it looks great on you.”
“So this outfit makes my chest look good,” she asked without a question mark.
“Most definitely. It’s a real attention-getter.”
“This sweater and bra are a good match.”
Fuka-Eri looked straight into his eyes. Tengo felt himself blushing.
“I can’t tell what kind of matching is involved, but the, uh, effect is excellent.”
Fuka-Eri was still staring into Tengo’s eyes. Gravely, she asked, “You can’t stop yourself from looking down there.”
“It’s true, I must confess,” Tengo said.
Fuka-Eri pulled on the collar of her sweater and all but stuck her nose inside as she looked down, apparently to check out what kind of bra she had on today. Then she focused her eyes on Tengo’s bright red face for a moment as if looking at some kind of curiosity. “I will do as you say,” she said a moment later.
“Thank you,” Tengo said, bringing their session to an end.
Tengo walked Fuka-Eri to Shinjuku Station. Many people on the street had their jackets off. A few women wore sleeveless tops. The bustle of people combined with the traffic created the liberated sound unique to the city. A fresh early-summer breeze swept down the street. Tengo was mystified: where could such a wonderful-smelling wind come from to reach the crowded streets of Shinjuku?
“Are you going back to your house in the country?” Tengo asked Fuka-Eri. The trains were jammed; it would take her forever to get home.
Fuka-Eri shook her head. “I have a room in Shinano-machi. Just a few minutes away from here.”
“You stay there when it gets too late to go home?”
“Futamatao is too far away.”
As before, Fuka-Eri held Tengo’s left hand while they were walking to the station. She did it the way a little girl holds a grown-up’s hand, but still it made Tengo’s heart pound to have his hand held by such a beautiful girl.
When they reached the station, she let go of his hand and bought a ticket to Shinano-machi from the machine.
“Don’t worry about the press conference,” Fuka-Eri said.
“I’m not worried.”
“Even if you don’t worry, I can do it okay.”
“I know that,” Tengo said. “I’m not the least bit worried. I’m sure it will be okay.”
Without speaking, Fuka-Eri disappeared through the ticket gate into the crowd.
After leaving Fuka-Eri, Tengo went to a little bar near the Kinokuniya bookstore and ordered a gin and tonic. This was a bar he would go to now and then. He liked the old-fashioned decor and the fact that they had no music playing. He sat alone at the bar and stared at his left hand for a while, thinking nothing in particular. This was the hand that Fuka-Eri had been holding. It still retained her touch. He thought about her chest, its beautiful curves. The shape was so perfect it had almost no sexual meaning.
As he thought about these things, Tengo found himself wanting to talk with his older girlfriend on the telephone—to talk about anything at all: her complaints about child raising, the approval rating of the Nakasone government, it didn’t matter. He just wanted to hear her voice. If possible, he wanted to meet her somewhere right away and have sex with her. But calling her at home was out of the question. Her husband might answer. One of her children might answer. He never did the phoning. That was one of the rules they had established.