1Q84 (143 page)

It’s Tengo
, she thought instinctively.

But once her vision cleared, she knew it wasn’t him. The man sitting there was short, like a child, with a large square head, wearing a knit hat. The knit hat was stretched out oddly because of the shape of his head. He had a green muffler wrapped around his neck and wore a navy-blue coat. The muffler was too long, and the buttons on his coat were straining around his stomach, ready to pop. Aomame knew this was the
child
she had seen last night coming out of the park. But this was no child. He was more near middle age. He was short and stocky, with short limbs. And his head was abnormally large, and misshapen.

Aomame remembered what Tamaru had said about the man with a head as large as a Fukusuke good-luck doll, the one they had nicknamed Bobblehead. The person who had been loitering around outside the Azabu Willow House, checking out the safe house. This man on top of the slide perfectly fit the description Tamaru had given her last night. That weird man hadn’t given up on his investigation, and now he had crept up on her.
I have to get the pistol. Why of all nights did I leave it back in the bedroom?
Aomame took a deep breath, let the chaos of her heart settle and her nerves calm down.
I mustn’t panic. There’s no need for the pistol at this point
.

The man wasn’t, after all, watching her building. Seated at the top of the slide, he was staring at the sky like Tengo had done, at the very same spot. And he seemed lost in thought. He didn’t move a muscle for the longest time, like he had forgotten how to move. He didn’t pay any attention to the direction of her room. This confused Aomame.
What’s going on? This man came here searching for me. He’s probably a member of Sakigake. No doubt at all he’s a skilled pursuer. I mean, he was able to follow the trail all the way from the Azabu mansion to here. For all that, there he is now, defenseless, exposed, staring vacantly at the night sky
.

Aomame stealthily rose to her feet, slid open the glass door a crack, slipped inside, and sat down in front of the phone. With trembling hands she began dialing Tamaru’s number. She had to report this to him—that she could see Bobblehead from where she was, on top of a slide in a playground across the street. Tamaru would decide what to do, and would no doubt deftly handle the situation. But after punching in the first four numbers she stopped, the receiver clutched in her hand, and bit her lip.

It’s too soon
, Aomame thought.
There are still too many things we don’t know about this man. If Tamaru simply sees him as a risk factor and
takes care of him,
all those
things we don’t know about him
will remain unknown. Come to think of it, the man is doing exactly what Tengo did the other day. The same slide, the same pose, the same part of the sky, as if he’s retracing Tengo’s movements. He must be seeing the two moons as well
. Aomame understood this.
Maybe this man and Tengo are linked in some way. And maybe this man hasn’t noticed yet that I’m hiding out in an apartment in this building, which is why he’s sitting there, defenseless, his back to me
. The more she thought about it, the more persuasive she found this theory.
If that’s true, then following the man might lead me right to Tengo. Instead of searching me out, this guy can serve as my guide
. The thought made her heart contract even more, and then start to pound. She laid down the phone.

I’ll tell Tamaru about it later
, she decided.
There’s something I have to do first. Something risky, because it involves the pursued following the pursuer. And this man is no doubt a pro. But even so I can’t let this golden opportunity slip by. This may be my last chance. And from the way he looks, he seems to be in a bit of a daze, at least for the moment
.

She hurried into the bedroom, opened the dresser drawer, and took out the Heckler & Koch semiautomatic. She flicked off the safety, racked a round into the chamber, and reset it. She stuffed the pistol into the back of her jeans and went out to the balcony again. Bobblehead was still there, staring at the sky. His misshapen head was perfectly still. He seemed totally captivated by what he was seeing in the sky. Aomame knew how he felt.
That was most definitely a captivating sight
.

Aomame went back inside and put on a down jacket and a baseball cap. And a pair of nonprescription glasses with a simple black frame, enough to give her face a different appearance. She wound a gray muffler around her neck and put her wallet and apartment key in her pocket. She ran down the stairs and went out of the building. The soles of her sneakers were silent as she stepped out on the asphalt. It had been so long since she had felt hard, steady ground beneath her feet, and the feeling encouraged her.

As she walked down the road she checked that Bobblehead was still in the same place. The temperature had dropped significantly after the sun had set, but there was still no wind. She actually found the cold pleasant. Her breath white, Aomame walked as silently as she could past the entrance to the park. Bobblehead showed no sign that he had noticed her. His gaze was fixed straight up from the slide, on the sky. From where she was, Aomame couldn’t see them, but she knew that at the end of his gaze there were two moons—one large, one small. No doubt they were snuggled up close to each other in the freezing, cloudless sky.

She passed by the park, and when she got to the next corner, she turned and retraced her steps. She hid in the shadows and watched the man on the slide. The pistol against her back was as hard and cold as death, and the feeling soothed her.

She waited five minutes. Bobblehead slowly got to his feet, brushed off his coat, and gazed up one more time at the sky. Then, as if he had made up his mind, he clambered down the steps of the slide. He left the park and walked off in the direction of the station. Shadowing him wasn’t particularly hard. There were few people on a residential street on a Sunday night, and even keeping her distance, she wouldn’t lose him. He also had not the slightest suspicion that someone was observing him. He never looked back, kept walking at a set pace, the pace people keep when they’re preoccupied.
How ironic
, Aomame thought.
The pursuer’s blind spot is that he never thinks
he’s
being pursued
.

After a while it dawned on her that Bobblehead wasn’t heading toward Koenji Station. Back in the apartment, using a Tokyo map of all twenty-three wards, she had gone over the district again and again until she had memorized the local geography so she would know what direction to take in an emergency. So though he was initially headed toward the station, she knew that when he turned at one corner he was going in a different direction. Bobblehead didn’t know the neighborhood, she noticed. Twice he stopped at a corner, looked around as if unsure where to go, and checked the address plaques on telephone poles. He was definitely not from around here.

Finally Bobblehead picked up the pace. Aomame surmised that he was back on familiar territory. He walked past a municipal elementary school, down a narrow street, and went inside an old three-story apartment building.

Aomame waited for five minutes after the man had disappeared inside. Bumping into him at the entrance was the last thing she wanted. There were concrete eaves at the entrance, a round light bathing the front door in a yellowish glow. She looked everywhere but couldn’t find a sign for the name of the building. Maybe the apartment building didn’t have a name. Either way, it had been built quite a few years ago. She memorized the address indicated on the nearby telephone pole.

After five minutes she headed toward the entrance. She passed quickly under the yellowish light and hurriedly opened the door. There was no one in the tiny entrance hall. It was an empty space, devoid of warmth. A fluorescent light on its last legs buzzed above her. The sound of a TV filtered in from somewhere, as did the shrill voice of a child pestering his mother.

Aomame took her apartment key out of the pocket of her down jacket and lightly jiggled it in her hands so if anyone saw her it would look like she lived in the building. She scanned the names on the mailboxes. One of them might be Bobblehead’s. She wasn’t hopeful but thought it worth trying. It was a small building, with not that many residents. When she ran across the name
Kawana
on one of the boxes, all sound faded away.

She stood frozen in front of that mailbox. The air felt terribly thin, and she found it hard to breathe. Her lips, slightly parted, were trembling. Time passed. She knew how stupid and dangerous this was. Bobblehead could show up any minute. Still, she couldn’t tear herself away from the mailbox. One little card with the name
Kawana
had paralyzed her brain, frozen her body in place.

She had no positive proof that this resident named Kawana was Tengo Kawana. Kawana wasn’t that common a name, but certainly not as unusual as Aomame. But if, as she surmised, Bobblehead had some connection with Tengo, then there was a strong possibility that this
Kawana
was none other than Tengo Kawana. The room number was 303, coincidentally the same number as the apartment where she was currently staying.

What should I do?
Aomame bit down hard on her lip. Her mind kept going in circles and couldn’t find an exit.
What should I do?
Well, she couldn’t stay planted in front of the mailbox forever. She made up her mind and walked up the uninviting concrete stairs to the third floor. Here and there on the gloomy floor were thin cracks from years of wear and tear. Her sneakers made a grating noise as she walked.

Aomame now stood outside apartment 303. An ordinary steel door with a printed card saying
Kawana
in the name slot. Just the last name. Those two characters looked brusque, inorganic. At the same time, a deep riddle lay within them. Aomame stood there, listening carefully, her senses razor sharp. But she couldn’t hear any sound at all from behind the door, or even tell if there was a light on inside. There was a doorbell next to the door.

Aomame was confused. She bit her lip and contemplated her next step.
Am I supposed to ring the bell?
she asked herself.

Or was this some clever trap? Maybe Bobblehead was hiding behind the door, like an evil dwarf in a dark forest, an ominous smile on his face as he waited.
He deliberately revealed himself on top of that slide to lure me over here and take me captive. Fully aware that I’m searching for Tengo, he’s using that as bait. A low-down, cunning man who knows exactly what my weak point is. That’s the only way he could ever get me to open my door from the inside
.

She checked that no one else was around and pulled the pistol out of her jeans. She flicked off the safety and stuffed the pistol into the pocket of her down jacket so she could get to it easily. She gripped the pistol in her right hand, finger on the trigger, and with her left hand pressed the doorbell.

The doorbell rang inside the apartment. A leisurely chime, out of step with her racing heart. She gripped the pistol tight, waiting for the door to open. But it didn’t. And there didn’t seem to be anyone peering out at her through the peephole. She waited a moment, then rang the bell again. The bell was loud enough to get all the people in Suginami Ward to raise their heads and prick up their ears. Aomame’s right hand on the pistol grip started to sweat a little. But there was no response.

Better leave
, she decided.
The Kawana who lives in 303, whoever he is, isn’t at home. And that ominous Bobblehead is still lurking somewhere in this building. Too dangerous to stay any longer
. She rushed down the stairs, shooting a glance at the mailbox as she passed, and left the building. Head down, she hurried under the yellow light and headed toward the street. She glanced back to make sure no one was following her.

There were lots of things she needed to think about, and an equal number of decisions she had to make. She felt in her pocket and reset the safety on the pistol. Then, away from any possible prying eyes, she shoved the pistol in the back of her jeans.
I can’t get my expectations or hopes up too high
, she told herself.
The Kawana who lived there might be Tengo. And then again he might not. Once you get your hopes up, your mind starts acting on its own. And when your hopes are dashed you get disappointed, and disappointment leads to a feeling of helplessness. You get careless and let your guard down. And right now
, she thought,
that’s the last thing I can afford
.

I have no idea how much Bobblehead knows. But the reality is that he’s getting close to me. Almost close enough to reach out and touch. I need to pull myself together and stay alert. I’m dealing with someone who is totally dangerous. The
tiniest mistake could be fatal. First of all, I have to stay away from that old apartment building. He’s hiding in there, scheming how to capture me—like a poisonous, blood-sucking spider who has spun a web in the darkness
.

By the time she got back to her apartment Aomame’s mind was made up. There was but one path she could follow.

This time she dialed Tamaru’s entire number. She let it ring twelve times, then hung up. She took off her cap and coat, returned the pistol to the drawer, then gulped down two glasses of water. She filled the kettle and boiled water for tea. She peeked through a gap in the curtain at the park across the street, to make sure no one was there. She stood in front of the bathroom mirror and brushed her hair. Even after that her fingers didn’t work right. The tension remained. She was pouring hot water in the teapot when the phone rang. It was Tamaru, of course.

“I just saw Bobblehead,” she told him.

Silence. “By
just saw him
you mean he’s not there anymore?”

“That’s right,” Aomame said. “A little while ago he was in the park across from my building. But he’s not there anymore.”

“How long ago do you mean by
a little while ago
?”

“About forty minutes ago.”

“Why didn’t you call me forty minutes ago?”