new song by the Southern All Stars is playing. Shirakawa goes straight to the dairy case and grabs a carton of Takanashi low-fat. He checks the expiration date. Fine. Then he takes a large plastic container of yogurt. Finally it occurs to him to pull the Chinese woman’s cell phone from his coat pocket. He looks around to make sure no one is watching him and sets the phone down next to the boxes of cheese. The little silver telephone fits the spot strangely well. It looks as though it has always been sitting there. Having left Shirakawa’s hand, it is now part of the 7-Eleven.
He pays at the register and hurries back to the taxi.
“Did you find what you wanted?” the driver asks.
“Sure did,” Shirakawa answers.
“Good. Now we head straight for Tetsugakudo.”
“I might doze off, so wake me when we get close, okay?” Shirakawa says. “There’s a Showa Shell station along the way. I get off a little after that.”
“Yes, sir. Have a nice snooze.”
Shirakawa sets the vinyl bag with the milk and yogurt next to his briefcase, folds his arms, and closes his eyes. He probably won’t manage to sleep, but he is in no mood to make small talk with the driver all the way home. Eyes closed, he tries to think of something that will not grate on his nerves. Something mundane, without deep meaning. Or possibly something purely abstract. But nothing comes to mind. In the vacuum, all he feels is the dull ache in his right hand. It throbs along with the beating of his heart, and echoes in his ears like the roar of the ocean. Strange, he thinks: the ocean is nowhere near here.
Having run for a while, the taxi with Shirakawa in it stops at a red light. This is a big intersection with a long red light. Also waiting for the light next to the taxi is the black Honda motorcycle with the Chinese man. They are less than a meter apart, but the man on the cycle looks straight ahead, never noticing Shirakawa. Shirakawa is sunk deep in his seat with his eyes closed. He is listening to the imaginary roar of the ocean far away. The light turns green, and the motorcycle shoots straight ahead. The taxi accelerates gently so as not to wake Shirakawa. Turning left, it leaves the neighborhood.
13
Mari and Takahashi sit in their swings in the deserted nighttime park. Takahashi is looking at her in profile. His expression says, “I don’t understand.” This is the continuation of their earlier conversation.
“‘She doesn’t want to wake up?’”
Mari says nothing.
“What do you mean?” he asks.
Mari remains silent, looking at her feet, as if she cannot make up her mind. She is not ready for this conversation.
“Wanna walk a little?” Mari says.
“Sure, let’s walk. Walking is good for you. Walk slowly; drink lots of water.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s my motto for life. ‘Walk slowly; drink lots of water.’”
Mari looks at him. Weird motto. She does not comment on it, however, or ask him about it. She gets out of the swing and starts walking. He follows her. They leave the park and head for a bright area.
“Going back to the Skylark now?” Takahashi asks.
Mari shakes her head. “I guess just sitting and reading in family restaurants is starting to bother me.”
“I think I know what you mean,” Takahashi says.
“I’d like to go back to the Alphaville if I can.”
“I’ll walk you over there. It’s right near where we’re practicing.”
“Kaoru said I could go there any time I wanted, but I wonder if it’s going to be a bother for her.”
Takahashi shakes his head. “She’s got a foul mouth, but she means what she says. If she told you to come over anytime, then it’s okay to come over anytime. You can take her at her word.”
“Okay.”
“And besides, they’ve got nothing to do at this time of night. She’ll be glad to have you visit.”
“You’re going back to do more practicing?”
Takahashi looks at his watch. “This is probably the last all-nighter for me. I’m gonna give it my best shot.”
They return to the center of the neighborhood. Hardly anyone is walking along the street, given the time. Four in the morning: slack time in the city. All kinds of stuff is scattered on the street: aluminum beer cans, a trampled evening newspaper, a crushed cardboard box, plastic bottles, tobacco butts. Fragments of a car’s tail lamp. Some kind of discount coupon. Vomit, too. A big, dirty cat is sniffing