It kind of hurt to remember her smile.

Of course when you go to sleep having drunk as much as I had, waking up is total hell. It felt like the alcohol had pounded me flat, like my entire body—both inside and out—had been soaking in a bath of hot sake. My mouth was like a desert, and it was a while before I could even roll over.

I couldn't even begin to consider getting up and brushing my teeth, or taking a shower. I found it impossible to believe that in the past I'd done those things quite casually, as if they were nothing at all.

Arrowlike rays of sun bit into my head.

I couldn't even stand to tally up all my symptoms, there were so many, and it was all so terrible that I just wanted to burst into tears. I didn't see how I could ever be saved.

Lately every morning was like this.

Finally I gave up and dragged myself limply out of bed. If I just left my aching head on its own it would start swaying from side to side, so I held it in my hands. Still holding it, I fixed myself a cup of tea and drank it.

For some reason my nights tended to stretch out to surprising lengths, like rubber, and they were endlessly sweet. And my mornings were unforgivingly sharp. The light seemed to stab at me with some sort of pointy object. It was hard and translucent and stubborn. It was wretched.

Every thought I had just made me unhappy. And then, like an army in pursuit of an already thoroughly pummeled foe, the phone started to shriek. It was an awful sound. The insistent clangor got on my nerves so much that I answered with intentionally exaggerated vitality.

“Hello!”

“Wow, you sure sound lively,” said Mizuo cheerfully.

Mizuo was my boyfriend. He'd known both Haru and the man. When the two of them made their exits, he and I were left alone.

“I'm not. I've got a hangover and my head's throbbing.”

“Not again?”

“You're off today, right? Are you coming over?”

“Yeah, I'll be over soon,” Mizuo said.

He hung up.

He owned a store that sold various little household goods, so weekdays were his days off. I'd been working in the same kind of store until recently, but the place had gone out of business. It had been decided that I'd go to work at a new branch Mizuo was about to open in the next town, and I was waiting for it to open, which would be in about six months.

Every once in a while Mizuo looked at me with the same eyes he used to look at objects. Like he was thinking, It'd really be better without this floral pattern here . . . it might get a good price if it didn't have this chip . . . this stripe here might look tacky but it captures people's hearts.

At times like these the look in his eyes was so coldly penetrating it was shocking, and when I noticed it I'd give a little gasp. But it seemed he was also inspecting the changes that took place within my heart, regarding even those as just another pattern.