1Q84 (35 page)

Aomame nodded, and Ayumi picked up her wineglass and took a drink.

“He still calls me once in a while, says he wants to get together. All he wants is my body, of course. I know that. So I don’t see him. I know it would just be another mess if I did. Or should I say my
brain
knows it, but my body always reacts. It wants him
so
badly! When these things build up, I let myself go crazy again. I wonder if you know what I mean.”

“I certainly do,” Aomame said.

“He’s really an awful guy, pretty nasty, and he’s not that good in bed, either. But at least he’s not scared of me, and while I’m with him he treats me well.”

“Feelings like that don’t give you any choice, do they?” Aomame said. “They come at you whenever they want to. It’s not like choosing food from a menu.”

“It is in one way: you have regrets after you make a mistake.”

They shared a laugh.

Aomame said, “It’s the same with menus and men and just about anything else: we
think
we’re choosing things for ourselves, but in fact we may not be choosing anything. It could be that everything’s decided in advance and we
pretend
we’re making choices. Free will may be an illusion. I often think that.”

“If that’s true, life is pretty dark.”

“Maybe so.”

“But
if
you can love someone with your whole heart—even if he’s a terrible person and even if he doesn’t love you back—life is not a hell, at least, though it might be kind of dark. Is that what you’re saying?” Ayumi asked.

“Exactly.”

“But still,” Ayumi said, “it seems to me that this world has a serious shortage of both logic and kindness.”

“You may be right,” Aomame said. “But it’s too late to trade it in for another one.”

“The exchange window expired a long time ago,” Ayumi said.

“And the receipt’s been thrown away.”

“You said it.”

“Oh, well, no problem,” Aomame said. “The world’s going to end before we know it.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“And the kingdom is going to come.”

“I can hardly wait,” Ayumi said.

They ate dessert, drank espresso, and split the bill (which was amazingly cheap). Then they dropped into a neighborhood bar for cocktails.

“Oh, look at
him
over there,” Ayumi said. “He’s your type, isn’t he?”

Aomame swung her gaze in that direction. A tall, middle-aged man was drinking a martini alone at the end of the bar. He looked like a high school scholar-athlete who had entered middle age virtually unchanged. His hair was beginning to thin, but he still had a youthful face.

“He may be, but we’re not having anything to do with men today,” Aomame declared. “And besides, this is a classy bar.”

“I know. I just wanted to see what you’d say.”

“We’ll do that next time.”

Ayumi looked at Aomame. “Does that mean you’ll go with me next time? Searching for men, I mean.”

“For sure,” Aomame said. “Let’s do it.”

“Great! Something tells me that together, we can do anything!”

Aomame was drinking a daiquiri, Ayumi a Tom Collins.

“Oh, by the way,” Aomame said, “on the phone the other day you said we were doing lesbian stuff. What kind of stuff?”

“Oh,
that,
” Ayumi said. “It was nothing special. We just faked it a bit to liven things up. You really don’t remember anything? You were pretty hot.”

“Not a thing. My memory is wiped clean.”

“We were naked and touching each other’s breasts and kissing down there and—”

“Kissing down there?!” Aomame exclaimed. After the words escaped her lips, she nervously glanced around. She had spoken too loudly in the quiet bar, but fortunately no one seemed to have heard what she said.

“Don’t worry, like I said, we were faking it. No tongues.”

“Oh, man,” Aomame sighed, pressing her temples. “What the hell was
that
all about?”

“I’m sorry,” Ayumi said.

“It’s not your fault. I should never have let myself get so drunk.”

“But really, Aomame, you were so sweet and clean down there. Like new.”

“Well, of course, I really
am
almost new down there.”

“You mean you don’t use it all that often?”

Aomame nodded. “That’s exactly what I mean. So, tell me: are you interested in women?”

Ayumi shook her head. “No, I never did anything like that before. Really. But I was pretty drunk, too, and I figured I wouldn’t mind doing a little of that stuff as long as it was with you. Faking it. Just for fun. How about you?”

“No, I don’t have those kinds of feelings, either. Once, though, when I was in high school, I kind of did stuff like that with a good friend of mine. Neither of us had been planning it. It just sort of happened.”

“It’s probably not that unusual. Did you
feel
anything that time?”

“I did, I think,” Aomame answered honestly. “But only that once. I also felt it was wrong and never did anything like it again.”

“You mean you think lesbian sex is wrong?”

“No, not at all. I’m not saying lesbian sex is wrong or dirty or anything. I mean I just felt I shouldn’t get into that kind of a relationship with that particular friend. I didn’t want to change an important friendship into anything so physical.”

“I see,” Ayumi said. “You know, if it’s okay with you, would you mind putting me up tonight? I don’t feel like going back to the dorm. The minute I walk in there it will just ruin the elegant mood we’ve managed to create this evening.”

Aomame took her last sip of daiquiri and set her glass on the bar. “I don’t mind putting you up, but no fooling around.”

“No, no, that’s fine, I’m not looking for that. I just want to stay with you a little longer. I don’t care where you put me to bed. I can sleep anywhere—even on the floor. And I’m off duty tomorrow, so we can hang out in the morning, too.”

They took the subway back to Aomame’s apartment in Jiyugaoka, arriving just before eleven. Both were pleasantly drunk and sleepy. Aomame put bedding on the sofa and lent Ayumi a pair of pajamas.

“Can I get in bed with you for a minute or two?” Ayumi asked. “I want to stay close to you just a little bit longer. No funny business, I promise.”

“I don’t mind,” Aomame said, struck by the fact that a woman who had killed three men would be lying in bed with an active-duty policewoman. Life was so strange!

Ayumi crawled under the covers and wrapped her arms around Aomame, her firm breasts pressing against Aomame’s arm, her breath smelling of alcohol and toothpaste. “Don’t you think my breasts are too big?” she asked Aomame.

“Not at all. They’re beautiful.”

“Sure, but, I don’t know, big boobs make you look stupid, don’t you think? Mine bounce when I run, and I’m too embarrassed to hang my bras out to dry—they’re like two big salad bowls.”

“Men seem to like them like that.”

“And even my nipples are too big.” Ayumi unbuttoned her pajama top and pulled out a breast. “Look. This is a big nipple! Don’t you think it’s odd?”

Aomame looked at Ayumi’s nipple. It was certainly not small, but not so big as to cause concern, maybe a little bit bigger than Tamaki’s. “It’s nice. Did somebody tell you your nipples are too big?”

“Yeah, one guy. He said they’re the biggest he’s ever seen in his life.”

“I’m sure he hadn’t seen very many.
Yours
are ordinary.
Mine
are too small.”

“No, I like your breasts. They’re very elegantly shaped, and they give this
intellectual
impression.”

“That’s ridiculous. They’re too small, and they’re different sizes. I have trouble buying bras because one side is bigger than the other.”

“Really? I guess we all have our issues.”

“Exactly. Now go to sleep,” Aomame said.

Ayumi stretched her arm down and started to put a finger into Aomame’s pajamas. Aomame grabbed her hand.

“No, you promised.”

“Sorry,” Ayumi said, pulling her hand back. “You’re right, I did promise, didn’t I? I must be drunk. But I’m crazy about you. Like some mousy little high school girl.”

Aomame said nothing.

Almost whispering, Ayumi said, “What I think is that you’re saving the one thing that’s most important to you for that boy. It’s true, isn’t it? I envy you. That you’ve got somebody to save yourself for.”

She could be right
, Aomame thought.
But what
is
the one thing that’s most important to me?

“Now go to sleep,” Aomame said. “I’ll hold you until you fall asleep.”

“Thank you,” Ayumi said. “Sorry for putting you to so much trouble.”

“Don’t apologize. This is no trouble.”

Aomame continued to feel Ayumi’s warm breath against her side. A dog howled in the distance, and someone slammed a window shut. All the while, Aomame kept stroking Ayumi’s hair.

Aomame slipped out of bed after Ayumi was sound asleep. She would be the one sleeping on the sofa tonight, it seemed. She took a bottle of mineral water from the refrigerator and drank two glasses from it. Then she stepped out onto her small balcony and sat in an aluminum chair, looking at the neighborhood stretched out below. It was a soft spring night. The breeze carried the roar of distant streets like a man-made ocean. The glitter of neon had diminished somewhat now that midnight had passed.

I’m fond of this girl Ayumi, no doubt about it. I want to be as good to her as I can. After Tamaki died, I made up my mind to live without deep ties to anyone. I never once felt that I wanted a new friend. But for some reason I feel my heart opening to Ayumi. I can even confess my true feelings to her with a certain degree of honesty. She is totally different from you, of course
, Aomame said to the Tamaki inside.
You are special. I grew up with you. No one else can compare
.

Aomame leaned her head back and looked up at the sky for a time. Even as her eyes took in the sky, her mind wandered through distant memories. The time she spent with Tamaki, the talking they did, and the touching…. Soon, she began to sense that the night sky she saw above her was somehow different from the sky she was used to seeing. The strangeness of it was subtle but undeniable.

Some time had to pass before she was able to grasp what the difference was. And even after she had grasped it, she had to work hard to accept it. What her vision had seized upon, her mind could not easily confirm.

There were two moons in the sky—a small moon and a large one. They were floating there side by side. The large one was the usual moon that she had always seen. It was nearly full, and yellow. But there was another moon right next to it. It had an unfamiliar shape. It was somewhat lopsided, and greenish, as though thinly covered with moss. This was what her vision had seized upon.

Aomame stared at the two moons with narrowed eyes. Then she closed her eyes, let a moment pass, took a deep breath, and opened her eyes again, expecting to find that everything had returned to normal and there was only one moon. But nothing had changed. The light was not playing tricks on her, nor had her eyesight gone strange. There could be no doubt that two moons were clearly floating in the sky side by side—a yellow one and a green one.

She thought of waking Ayumi to ask if there really were two moons up there, but she decided against it. Ayumi might say, “Of
course
there are two moons in the sky. They increased in number last year.” Or then again, she might say, “What are you talking about? There’s only one moon up there. Something must be wrong with your eyes.” Neither response would solve the problem now facing her. Both would only deepen it.

Aomame raised her hands to cover the lower half of her face, and she continued staring at the two moons.
Something is happening, for sure
, she thought. Her heartbeat sped up.
Something’s wrong with the world, or something’s wrong with me: one or the other. The bottle and the cap don’t fit: is the problem with the bottle or the cap?

She went back inside, locked the balcony door, and drew the curtain. She took a bottle of brandy from the cabinet and poured herself a glassful. Ayumi was sleeping nicely in bed, her breathing deep and even. Aomame kept watch over her and took a sip of brandy now and then. Planting her elbows on the kitchen table, she struggled not to think about what lay beyond the curtain.

Maybe the world really is ending
, she thought.

“And the kingdom is coming,” Aomame muttered to herself.

“I can hardly wait,” somebody said somewhere.

Tengo had spent ten days reworking
Air Chrysalis
before handing it over to Komatsu as a newly finished work, following which he was visited by a string of calm, tranquil days. He taught three days a week at the cram school, and got together once a week with his married girlfriend. The rest of his time he spent doing housework, taking walks, and writing his own novel. April passed like this. The cherry blossoms scattered, new buds appeared on the trees, the magnolias reached full bloom, and the seasons moved along in stages. The days flowed by smoothly, regularly, uneventfully. This was the life that Tengo most wanted, each week linking automatically and seamlessly with the next.

Amid all the sameness, however, one change became evident. A good change. Tengo was aware that, as he went on writing his novel, a new wellspring was forming inside him. Not that its water was gushing forth: it was more like a tiny spring among the rocks. The flow may have been limited, but it was continuous, welling up drop by drop. He was in no hurry. He felt no pressure. All he had to do was wait patiently for the water to collect in the rocky basin until he could scoop it up. Then he would sit at his desk, turning what he had scooped into words, and the story would advance quite naturally.

The concentrated work of rewriting
Air Chrysalis
might have dislodged a rock that had been blocking his wellspring until now. Tengo had no idea why that should be so, but he had a definite sense that a heavy lid had finally come off. He felt as though his body had become lighter, that he had emerged from a cramped space and could now stretch his arms and legs freely.
Air Chrysalis
had probably stimulated something that had been deep inside him all along.