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I was hoping you'd trip； but you didn't。 Now you're sitting next to me
drinking your Coke。 I was holding out one last hope that you'd notice
and say 〃Hey； your hair's changed！〃 but no。 If you had； I would have
torn up this letter and said： 〃Let's go to your place。 I'll make you a nice
dinner。 And afterwards we can go to bed and cuddle。〃 But you're
about as sensitive as a steel plate。 Goodbye。
PS。 Please don't talk to me next time we meet。
I rang Midori's flat from the station when I got off the train in
Kichijoji； but there was no answer。 With nothing better to do； I
ambled around the neighbourhood looking for some part…time work I
could take after lectures began。 I would be free all day Saturday and
Sunday and could work after five o'clock on Mondays； Wednesdays
and Thursdays； but finding a job that fitted my particular schedule was
no easy matter。 I gave up and went home。 When I went out to buy
groceries for dinner； I tried Midori's place again。 Her sister told me
that Midori hadn't e home yet and that she had no idea when she'd
be back。 I thanked her and hung up。
After eating； I tried to write to Midori； but I gave up after several false
starts and wrote to Naoko instead。
Spring was here； I said； and the new university year was starting。 I
told her I missed her； that I had been hoping； one way or another； to be
able to meet her and talk。 In any case；
I wrote； I've decided to make myself strong。 As far as I can tell； that's
all I can do。
There's one other thing。 Maybe it's just to do with me； and you may
not care about this one way or another； but I'm not sleeping with
anybody any more。 It's because I don't want to forget the last time you
touched me。 It meant a lot more to me than you might think。 I think
about it all of the time。
I put the letter in an envelope； stuck on a stamp； and sat at my desk a
long while staring at it。 It was a much shorter letter than usual； but I
had the feeling that Naoko might understand me better that way。 I
poured myself an inch…and…a…half of whisky； drank it in two swallows；
and went to sleep。
The next day I found a job near Kichijoji Station that I could do on
Saturdays and Sundays： waiting on tables at a smallish It alian
restaurant。 The conditions were pretty poor； but travel
and lunch expenses were included。 And whenever somebody on the
late shift took the day off on a Monday； Wednesday or Thursday
（which happened often） I could take their place。 This was perfect for
me。 The manager said they would raise my pay when I had stayed for
three months； and they wanted me to start that Saturday。 He was a
much more decent guy than the idiot who ran the record shop in
Shinjuku。
I tried phoning Midori's flat again； and again her sister answered。
Midori hadn't e back since yesterday； she said； sounding tired； and
now she herself was beginning to worry： did I have any idea where
she might have gone？ All I knew was that Midori had her pyjamas and
a toothbrush in her bag。
I saw Midori at the lecture on Wednesday。 She was wearing a deep
green pullover and the dark sunglasses she had often worn that
summer。 She was seated in the last row； talking with a thin girl with
glasses I had seen once before。 I approached her and said I'd like to
talk afterwards。 The girl with glasses looked at me first； and then
Midori looked at me。 Her hairstyle was； in fact； somewhat more
feminine than it had been before： more mature。
〃I have to meet someone；〃 she said； cocking her head slightly。
〃I won't take up much of your time；〃 I said。 〃Five minutes。〃
Midori removed her sunglasses and narrowed her eyes。 She might just
as well have been looking at a crumbling； abandoned house some
hundred yards in the distance。
〃I don't want to talk to you。 Sorry；〃 she said。
The girl with glasses looked at me with eyes that said： She says she
doesn't want to talk to you。 Sorry。
I sat at the right end of the front row for the lecture （an overview of
the works of Tennessee Williams and their place in American
literature）； and when it was over； I did a long count to three and turned
around。 Midori was gone。
April was too lonely a month to spend all alone。 In April； everyone
around me looked happy。 People would throw off their coats and
enjoy each other's pany in the sunshine … talking； playing catch；
holding hands。 But I was always by myself。 Naoko； Midori；
Nagasawa： all of them had gone away from where I stood。 Now I had
no one to say 〃Good morning〃 to or 〃Have a nice day〃。 I even missed
Storm Trooper。 I spent the whole month with this hopeless sense of
isolation。 I tried to speak to Midori a few times； but the answer I got
from her was always the same： 〃I don't want to talk to you now〃 … and
I knew from the tone of her voice that she meant it。 She was always
with the girl with glasses； or else I saw her with a tall； short…haired
guy。 He had these incredibly long legs and always wore white
basketball shoes。
April ended and May came along； but May was even worse than
April。 In the deepening spring of May； I had no choice b ut to
recognize the trembling of my heart。 It usually happened as the sun
was going down。 In the pale evening gloom； when the soft fragrance
of magnolias hung in the air； my heart would swell without warning；
and tremble； and lurch with a stab of pain。 I would try clamping my
eyes shut and gritting my teeth； and wait for it to pass。 And it would
pass … but slowly； taking its own time； and leaving a dull ache in its
path。
At those times I would write to Naoko。 In my letters to her； I would
describe only things that were touching or pleasant or beautiful： the
fragrance of grasses； the caress of a spring breeze； the light of the
moon； a film I'd seen； a song I liked； a book that had moved me。 I
myself would be forted by
letters like this when I would reread what I had written。 And I would
feel that the world I lived in was a wonderful one。 I wrote any number
of letters like this； but from Naoko or Reiko I heard nothing。
At the restaurant where I worked I got to know another student my
age named Itoh。 It took quite a while before this gentle； quiet student
from the oil…painting department of an art college would engage me in
conversation； but eventually we started going to a nearby bar after
work and talking about all kinds of things。 He also liked to read and to
listen to music； so we'd usually talk about books and records we liked。
He was a slim； good…looking guy with much shorter hair and far
cleaner clothes than the typical art student。 He never had a lot to say；
but he had his definite tastes and opinions。 He liked French novels；
especially those of Georges Bataille and Boris Vian。 For music； he
preferred Mozart and Ravel。 And； like me； he was looking for a friend
with whom he could talk about such things。
Itoh once invited me to his flat。 It was not quite as hard to get to as
mine： a strange； one…floored house behind Inokashira Park。 His room
was stuffed with painting supplies and canvases。 I asked to see his
work； but he said he was too embarrassed to show me anything。 We
drank some Chivas Re