1q84 by Haruki Murakami
He made a small sound in the back of his throat, and hung up the phone.
. . .
The phone rang again fifteen minutes later. It had been a long while since Aomame had heard the dowager’s voice. She felt like she was back in the greenhouse. That humid, warm space where rare butterflies flutter about, and time passes slowly.
“Are you doing all right there?”
“I’m trying to keep to a daily routine,” Aomame replied. Since the dowager wanted to know, Aomame gave her a summary of her daily schedule, her exercising and meals.
“It must be hard for you,” the dowager said, “not being able to go outside. But you have a strong will, so I’m not worried about you. I know you will be able to get through it. I would like to have you leave there as soon as possible and get you to a safer place, but if you want to stay there longer, I will do what I can to honor your wishes.”
“I am grateful for that.”
“No, I’m the one who should be grateful to you. You have done a wonderful thing for us.” A short silence followed, and then the dowager continued. “Now, I understand you have requested a pregnancy test.”
“My period is nearly three weeks late.”
“Are your periods usually regular?”
“Since they began when I was ten, I have had a period every twenty-nine days, almost without fail. Like the waxing and waning of the moon. I’ve never skipped one.”
“You are in an unusual situation right now. Your emotional balance and physical rhythm will be thrown off. It’s possible your period might stop, or the timing may be off.”
“It has never happened before, but I understand how it could.”
“According to Tamaru you don’t see how you could be pregnant.”
“The last time I had sexual relations with a man was the middle of June. After that, nothing at all.”
“Still, you suspect you might be pregnant. Is there any evidence for that? Other than your period being late?”
“I just have a feeling about it.”
“A feeling?”
“A feeling inside me.”
“A feeling that you have conceived?”
“Once we talked about eggs, remember? The evening we went to see Tsubasa. About how women have a set number of them?”
“I remember. The average woman has about four hundred eggs. Each month, she releases one of them.”
“Well, I have the distinct sensation that one of those eggs has been fertilized. I don’t know if sensation is the right word, though.”
The dowager pondered this. “I have had two children, so I think I have a very good idea of what you mean by sensation. But you’re saying you’ve been impregnated without having had sex with a man. That is a little difficult to accept.”
“I know. I feel the same way.”
“I’m sorry to have to ask this, but is it possible you’ve had sexual relations with someone while you weren’t conscious?”
“That is not possible. My mind is always clear.”
The dowager chose her words carefully. “I have always thought of you as a very calm, logical person.”
“I’ve always tried to be,” Aomame said.
“In spite of that, you think you are pregnant without having had sex.”
“I think that possibility exists. To put it more accurately,” Aomame replied. “Of course, it might not make any sense even to consider it.”
“I understand,” the dowager said. “Let’s wait and see what happens. The pregnancy kit will be there tomorrow. It will come at the same time and in the same way as the rest of the supplies. We will include several types of tests, just to be sure.”
“I really appreciate it,” Aomame said.
“If it does turn out that you are pregnant, when do you think it happened?”
“I think it was that night when I went to the Hotel Okura. The night there was a storm.”
The dowager gave a short sigh. “You can pinpoint it that clearly?”
“I calculated it, and that night just happened to be the day when I was most fertile.”
“Which would mean that you are two months along.”
“That’s right,” Aomame said.
“Do you have any morning sickness? This would normally be when you would have the worst time of it.”
“No, I don’t feel nauseous at all. I don’t know why, though.”
The dowager took her time, and carefully chose her next words. “If you do the test and it does turn out you’re pregnant, how do you think you’ll react?”
“I suppose I’ll try to figure out who the child’s biological father could be. This would be very important to me.”
“But you have no idea.”
“Not at the moment, no.”
“I understand,” the dowager said, calmly. “At any rate, whatever does happen, I will always be with you. I’ll do everything in my power to protect you. I want you to remember that.”
“I’m sorry to cause so much trouble at a time like this,” Aomame said.
“It’s no trouble at all,” the dowager said. “This is the most important thing for a woman. Let’s wait for the test results, and then decide what we’ll do. Just relax.”
And she quietly hung up.
Someone knocked at the door. Aomame was in the bedroom doing yoga, and she stopped and listened carefully. The knock was hard and insistent. She remembered that sound.
She took the automatic pistol from the drawer and switched off the safety. She pulled back the slide to send a round into the chamber. She stuck the pistol in the back of her sweatpants and softly padded out to the dining room. She gripped the softball bat in both hands and stared at the door.
“Miss Takai,” a thick, hoarse voice called out. “Are you there, Miss Takai? NHK here, come to collect the subscription fee.”
Plastic tape was wrapped around the handle of the bat so it wouldn’t slip.
“Miss Takai, to repeat myself, I know you’re in there. So please stop playing this silly game of hide-and-seek. You’re inside, and you’re listening to my voice.”
The man was saying almost exactly the same things he had said the previous time, like a tape being replayed.
“I told you I would be back, but you probably thought that was just an empty threat. You should know that I always keep my promises. And if there are fees to collect, I most definitely will collect them. You’re in there, Miss Takai, and you’re listening. And you’re thinking this: If I just stay patient, the collector will give up and go away.”
He knocked on the door again for some time. Twenty, maybe twenty-five times. What sort of hands does this man have? Aomame wondered. And why doesn’t he use the doorbell?
“And I know you’re thinking this, too,” the fee collector said, as if reading her mind. “You are thinking that this man must have pretty tough hands. And that his hands must hurt, pounding on the door like this so many times. And there is another thing you are thinking: Why in the world is he knocking, anyway? There’s a doorbell, so why not ring that?”
Aomame grimaced.
The fee collector continued. “No, I don’t want to ring the bell. If I do, all you hear is the bell ringing, that’s all. No matter who pushes the bell, it makes the same harmless little sound. Now, a knock—that has personality. You use your physical body to knock on something and there’s a flesh-and-blood emotion behind it. Of course my hand does hurt. I’m not Superman, after all. But it can’t be helped. This is my profession. And every profession, no matter high or low, deserves respect. Don’t you agree, Miss Takai?”
Knocks pounded on the door again. Twenty-seven in all, powerful knocks with a fixed pause between each one. Aomame’s hands grew sweaty as they gripped the bat.
“Miss Takai, people who receive the NHK TV signal have to pay the fee—it’s the law. There are no two ways about it. It is a rule we have to follow. So why don’t you just cheerfully pay the fee? I’m not pounding on your door because I want to, and I know you don’t want this u
The man’s voice echoed loudly down the hallway. This man is enjoying the sound of his own voice, Aomame thought. He’s getting a kick out of insulting people, making fun of them and abusing them. She could sense the perverse pleasure he was getting from this.
“You’re quite the stubborn lady, aren’t you, Miss Takai. I’m impressed. You’re like a shellfish at the bottom of a deep ocean, maintaining a strict silence. But I know you’re in there. You’re there, glaring at me through the door. The tension is making your underarms sweat. Do I have that right?”
Thirteen more knocks. Then he stopped. Aomame realized she was, indeed, sweating under her arms.
“All right. That’s enough for today. But I’ll be back soon. I’m starting to grow fond of this door. There are lots of doors in the world, and this one is not bad at all. It is definitely a door worth knocking on. At this rate I won’t be able to relax unless I drop by here regularly to give it a few good knocks. Good-bye, Miss Takai. I’ll be back.”
Silence reigned. The fee collector had apparently left for good, but she hadn’t heard any footsteps. Maybe he was pretending to have left and was waiting outside the door. Aomame gripped the bat even tighter and waited a couple of minutes.
“I’m still here,” the fee collector suddenly announced. “Ha! You thought I left, didn’t you? But I’m still here. I lied. Sorry about that, Miss Takai. That’s the sort of person I am.”
She heard him cough. An intentionally grating cough.
“I’ve been at this job for a long time. And over the years I’ve become able to picture the people on the other side of the door. This is the truth. Quite a few people hide behind their door and try to get away with not paying the NHK fee. I’ve been dealing with them for decades. Listen, Miss Takai.”
He knocked three times, louder than he ever had.
“Listen, Miss Takai. You’re very clever at hiding, like a flounder on the sea floor covered in sand. Mimicry, they call it. But in the end you won’t be able to escape. Someone will come and open this door. You can count on it. As a veteran NHK fee collector, I guarantee it. You can hide as cleverly as you like, but in the final analysis mimicry is deception, pure and simple. It doesn’t solve a thing. It’s true, Miss Takai. I’ll be on my way soon. Don’t worry, this time for real. But I’ll be back soon. When you hear a knock, you’ll know it’s me. Well, see you, Miss Takai. Take care!”
She couldn’t hear any footsteps this time, either. She waited five minutes, then went up to the door and listened carefully. She squinted through the peephole. No one was outside. This time the fee collector really had left, it seemed.
Aomame leaned the metal bat up against the kitchen counter. She slid the round out of the pistol’s chamber, set the safety, wrapped it back up in a pair of thick tights, and returned it to the drawer. She lay down on the sofa and closed her eyes. The man’s voice still rang in her ears.
But in the end you won’t be able to escape. Someone will come and open this door.
At least this man wasn’t from Sakigake. They would take a quieter, more indirect approach. They would never yell in an apartment hallway, insinuate things like that, putting their target on guard. That was not their MO. Aomame pictured Buzzcut and Ponytail. They would sneak up on you without making a sound. And before you knew it, they would be standing right behind you.
Aomame shook her head, and breathed quietly.
Maybe he really was an NHK fee collector. If so, it was strange that he didn’t notice the sticker that said they paid the subscription fee automatically. Aomame had checked that the sticker was pasted to the side of the door. Maybe the man was a mental patient. But the things he said had a bit too much reality to them for that. The man certainly did seem to sense my presence on the other side of the door. As if he had sniffed out my secret, or a part of it. But he did not have the power to open the door and come in. The door had to be opened from inside. And I’m not planning on opening it.
No, she thought, it’s hard to say that for sure. Someday I might open the door. If Tengo were to show up at the playground, I wouldn’t hesitate to open the door and rush outside. It doesn’t matter what might be waiting for me.
Aomame sank down into the garden chair on the balcony and gazed as usual through the cracks in the screen at the playground. A high school couple were sitting on the bench underneath the zelkova tree, discussing something, serious expressions on their faces. Two young mothers were watching their children, not yet old enough for kindergarten, playing in the sandbox. They were deep in conversation yet kept their eyes glued to their children. A typical afternoon scene in a park. Aomame stared at the top of the slide for a long time.
She brought her hand down to her abdomen, shut her eyes, and listened carefully, trying to pick up the voice. Something was definitely alive inside her. A small, living something. She knew it.
Dohta, she whispered.
Maza, something replied.
CHAPTER 9
Tengo
BEFORE THE EXIT IS BLOCKED
The four of them had yakiniku, then went to another place where they sang karaoke and polished off a bottle of whiskey. It was nearly ten p.m. when their cozy but boisterous little party broke up. After they left the bar, Tengo took Nurse Adachi back to her apartment. The other two women could catch a bus near the station, and they casually let things work out that way. Tengo and the young nurse walked down the deserted streets, side by side, for a quarter of an hour.
“Tengo, Tengo, Tengo,” she sang out. “Such a nice name. Tengo. It’s so easy to say.”
Nurse Adachi had drunk a lot, but her cheeks were normally rosy so it was hard to tell, just by looking at her face, how drunk she really was. Her words weren’t slurred and her footsteps were solid. She didn’t seem drunk. Though people had their own ways of being drunk.
“I always thought it was a weird name,” Tengo said.
“It isn’t at all. Tengo. It has a nice ring to it and it’s easy to remember. It’s a wonderful name.”
“Speaking of which, I don’t know your first name. Everybody calls you Ku.”
“That’s my nickname. My real name is Kumi. Kind of a nothing name.”
“Kumi Adachi,” Tengo said aloud. “Not bad. Compact and simple.”
“Thank you,” Kumi Adachi said. “But putting it like that makes me feel like a Honda Civic or something.”
“I meant it as a compliment.”
“I know. I get good mileage, too,” she said, and took Tengo’s hand. “Do you mind if I hold your hand? It makes it more fun to walk together, and more relaxed.”
“I don’t mind,” Tengo replied. Holding hands like this with Kumi Adachi, he remembered Aomame and the classroom in elementary school. It felt different now, but there was something in common.
“I must be a little drunk,” Kumi said.
“You think so?”
“Yup.”
Tengo looked at the young nurse’s face again. “You don’t look drunk.”
“I don’t show it on the outside. That’s just the way I am. But I’m wasted.”
“Well, you were knocking them back pretty steadily.”
“I know. I haven’t drunk this much in a long time.”
“You just have to get out like this sometimes,” Tengo said, quoting Mrs. Tamura.
“Of course,” Kumi said, nodding vigorously. “People have to get out sometimes—have something good to eat, have some drinks, belt out some songs, talk about nothing in particular. But I wonder if you ever have times like that. Where you just get it out of your system, to clear your head? You always seem so cool and composed, Tengo.”
Tengo thought about it. Had he done anything lately to unwind? He couldn’t recall. If he couldn’t recall, that probably meant he hadn’t. The whole concept of getting something out of his system was something he might be lacking.<
“Not so much, I guess,” Tengo admitted.
“Everybody’s different.”
“There are all sorts of ways of thinking and feeling.”
“Just like there are lots of ways of being drunk,” the nurse said, and giggled. “But it’s important, Tengo.”
“You may be right,” he said.
They walked on in silence for a while, hand in hand. Tengo felt uneasy about the change in the way she spoke. When she had on her nurse’s uniform, Kumi was invariably polite. But now in civilian clothes, she was more outspoken, probably partly due to the alcohol. That informal way of talking reminded him of someone. Somebody had spoken the same way. Someone he had met fairly recently.
“Tengo, have you ever tried hashish?”
“Hashish?”
“Cannabis resin.”
Tengo breathed in the night air and exhaled. “No, I never have.”
“How about trying some?” Kumi Adachi asked. “Let’s try it together. I have some at home.”
“You have hashish?”
“Looks can be deceiving.”
“They certainly can,” Tengo said vaguely. So a healthy young nurse living in a seaside little town on the Boso Peninsula had hashish in her apartment. And she was inviting him to smoke some.
“How did you get ahold of it?” Tengo asked.
“A girlfriend from high school gave it to me for a birthday present last month. She had gone to India and brought it back.” Kumi began swinging Tengo’s hand with her own in a wide arc.
“But there’s a stiff penalty if you’re caught smuggling pot into the country. The Japanese police are really strict about it. They have pot-sniffing dogs at the airports.”
“She’s not the type to worry about little details,” Kumi said. “Anyhow, she got through customs okay. Would you like to try it? It’s high-quality stuff, very potent. I checked into it, and medically speaking there’s nothing dangerous about it. I’m not saying it isn’t habit forming, but it’s much milder than tobacco, alcohol, or cocaine. Law enforcement says it’s addictive, but that’s ridiculous. If you believe that, then pachinko is far more dangerous. You don’t get a hangover, so I think it would be good for you to try it to blow off some steam.”