Tsukuru really liked her. She was bright and attractive, and while she didn’t provide intellectual stimulation like Haida, she had a cheerful, open personality, plenty of curiosity, and was an enjoyable conversationalist. She enjoyed making love, too, and being with her taught him much about women’s bodies.
She wasn’t good at cooking, but enjoyed cleaning, and before long she had his apartment sparkling clean. She replaced his curtains, sheets, pillowcases, towels, and bath mats with brand-new ones. She brought color and vitality into Tsukuru’s post-Haida life. But he didn’t choose to sleep with her out of passion, or because he was fond of her, or even to lessen his loneliness. Though he probably would never have admitted it, he was hoping to prove to himself that he wasn’t gay, that he was capable of having sex with a real woman, not just in his dreams. This was his main objective.
And he achieved his goal.
She stayed overnight at his place on weekends, just as Haida had done not so long before. They would make love leisurely, sometimes having sex almost until dawn. As he made love to her, he tried hard to think of nothing beyond her and her body. He focused, switched off his imagination, and chased away everything that wasn’t there—Shiro and Kuro’s naked bodies, and Haida’s lips—as best he could. She was on the pill, so he could come freely inside her. She enjoyed sex with him and seemed to be satisfied. When she orgasmed she always cried out in a strange voice. It’s okay, Tsukuru told himself. I’m normal, after all. Thanks to this relationship, his erotic dreams disappeared.
They saw each other for eight months, then mutually agreed to break up, just before he graduated from college. A railroad company had offered him a job, and his part-time work at the architectural firm was over. While she was seeing Tsukuru she had another boyfriend, someone back in her hometown in Niigata, whom she’d known since childhood (information she had disclosed from the first day they slept together). She was going to marry him in April. She planned to quit her job at the architectural firm and move to Sanjo City, where her fiancé worked. “So I won’t be able to see you anymore,” she told Tsukuru one day as they lay in bed.
“He’s a very good person,” she said, resting her hand on Tsukuru’s. “We’re well suited to each other.”
“I hate the thought of not seeing you again,” Tsukuru said, “but I suppose I should congratulate you.”
“Thank you,” she said. Then, as if writing a tiny footnote at the corner of a page, she added, “I might have a chance to see you again, someday.”
“That would be great,” Tsukuru said, though he found it hard to decipher that footnote. When she’s with her fiancé, he suddenly wondered, does she cry out in the same way? The two of them made love again.
And he really did feel bad about not being able to see her once a week. He knew that if he wanted to avoid having graphic erotic dreams, and live more in the present, he needed a regular sexual partner. But still, her marriage was, if anything, a good development for him, as he’d never felt anything for her beyond a calm fondness and a healthy physical desire. And at that point Tsukuru was about to embark on a new stage in his life.
When the call came in on his cell phone from Sara Kimoto, Tsukuru was killing time, sorting the documents that had piled up on his desk, discarding the ones he didn’t need, reorganizing the clutter that had accumulated in his desk drawer. It was a Thursday, five days since he’d last seen her.
“Can you talk?”
“Sure,” Tsukuru said. “I’m just taking it easy today for a change.”
“Good,” she said. “Are you free later? Even for a little while? I have a dinner at seven, but I can see you before then. If you could come to Ginza, I’d really appreciate it.”
Tsukuru glanced at his watch. “I can be there by five thirty. Just tell me where to meet you.”
She told him the name of a coffee shop near the Ginza-Yonchome intersection. Tsukuru knew the place.