I was now totally awake. The patch of sky visible through the window was a strange wash of subtle gradations of cloud and blue, and the interior of the room was very bright. Some-how that brightness felt terribly sad.

What strange weather, I thought.

“Sarah, I hope you'll be happy—I really hope you'll be happy!”

“Thanks, Shi-ba-mi,” Sarah said.

And then the line went dead.

I settled into a strange mood—it felt as if I'd seen something through to its conclusion, but at the same time I felt overwhelmingly sad. It occurred to me once again how incredible Mari was. To think she'd figured out that Sarah was back in Japan just from listening to a silent phone call! There hadn't been the slightest hint of uncertainty in her eyes when she told me it was Sarah. She had known. Yes . . . perhaps Mari, wandering in the interval between dream and reality as she was, perhaps she could sense that much, figure out who was calling almost before she knew it, feel it as clearly as something she held cupped in her hand.

* * *

I called Ken'ichi later that day. He'd promised to pay me back today.

“Hello?”

“Hey—is that you, Shibami?”

“Is it true that you're going to pay me back?”

“Yep. I've earned a bit of money, and I'm going to return every yen.”

“I hear you used my savings to go to Hawaii.”

“Hawaii? Are you kidding? It was Atami, not Hawaii!”

“Oh? Everyone's been saying you went to Hawaii.”

“I suppose they probably added up all the money I'd gotten from everyone and just picked a destination based on the cost. Asses. I certainly won't be giving that Tanaka any of his money back.”

“So what is it with Atami? Why there?”

“I'll tell you about it later. Where should we meet? I'll let you decide.”

“The lobby of the K. Hotel at one o'clock,” I said.

I'd heard at some point that Sarah's parents usually stayed at the K. Hotel when they came to Japan, and it had occurred to me that Sarah might stay there too. I had put a call through to the front desk earlier and given them Sarah's name, but they said that as far as they could tell, no one by that name was staying there. Yet I hadn't been able to give up hope completely.

“Okay,” Ken'ichi said.

And he hung up.

* * *

The lobbies of these giant hotels always feel deserted. It doesn't matter how crowded they really are; the feeling is a fundamental part of these places, it drifts through every corner. Evidently Ken'ichi hadn't shown up yet. I sank down into the thick cushions of one of the couches and glanced around.

I didn't have a chance of finding Sarah. The place was awash with foreigners. Of course most of them were suit-clad businessmen: their buttery-smooth English swooped around under the high ceiling, sounding exactly like music . . . I started feeling more and more dazed.