Takako got up and walked into the sitting room. She rubbed her cheeks,
thinking they must be red where Hirata had hit them. But it wasn’t until
after two that afternoon that she finally sat down in front of the mirror and
put on her makeup, with even more care than usual. Hirata was still asleep.
Takako had gone to tell him that lunch was ready but couldn’t bring herself
to wake him. When she had finished her makeup she began to wonder if he
might not be dead, and looked back into the bedroom. But she still didn’t
try to wake him.
What would happen the next time her husband woke? Takako could
hardly bear to stay in the house—she felt very weak, as if she was about to
become terribly sick.
Ricky started barking next door, frightening her—it told her that
someone was standing outside the fence. She walked outside on legs that
shook. Of course Fujiki was standing there.
Takako’s body stiffened, and she waved her hands at him. “Please—go
away, go away! Why did you come here? What business do you have
coming here? Didn’t we agree not to meet anymore? Please—please go
away. ’
“I know. I know we’ve broken up, but—1 just wanted to see you once
more. . . . Please—just come this far.”
“No, it’s too dangerous. I’m scared. I can’t.”
“I’ll leave right away.”
“It’s no good. I’m sick.”
“Sick?”
“Don’t just stand there—go away, please. This is my house.”
“Aren’t you alone?”
“He’ll be home soon, it’s evening. And there are the neighbors.”
