* * *

The shop Mizuo took me to was an ordinary snack bar, the sort of place you come across all over, down below street level, with nothing in it but a counter. There was no denying that the man in charge was a midget. But apart from the badly proportioned arrangement of his body, he seemed like a regular enough person, and there was nothing about him that made you feel uncomfortable. He gazed at me with steady eyes.

“Your girlfriend?” the midget asked Mizuo suddenly.

“Yeah—her name's Fumi.”

I nodded slightly and said it was nice to meet him.

“This here's my buddy, Tanaka the midget.”

Tanaka laughed when Mizuo said this.

“If I were an American I'd be Mr. John Doe,” he said. “That's me.”

He was about as sketchy as you can get, but the intelligence behind his words made me feel that I could trust him. He pushed open the small gate and stepped out from behind the counter, then walked over to the heavy front door and turned the lock.

“You're here to see someone dead?” he said.

“Right. Got to keep you working!” Mizuo said, grinning.

“I haven't been doing this at all lately. Takes strength. I have to charge a lot,” Tanaka said, and looked at me. “When did this person die?”

“Just recently. She's a young woman—I hadn't seen her in about two years. We were battling each other over a man.” My heart was pounding fast and hard. “I wonder if I could have something to drink?”

“Yeah, I could use something too. Break out a bottle,” Mizuo said.

“Well then, tonight the bar is yours,” Tanaka said.

He climbed a ladder and took a bottle down from one of the shelves up near the top, then started mixing two whiskeys and soda, moving his hands quickly and deftly.

“This one here's been overdoing it lately,” Mizuo said, with a smile. “You better make it super strong.”

“Gotcha.”

Tanaka laughed, and I laughed along with him. There was something I kept noticing. Mizuo trusted me, he treated me just like he would any adult. And that called forth an incomparable feeling of relief and security. I really believe that no matter how old people get, they tend to change in certain ways depending on how people treat them—they change their colors. Mizuo was always very skilled at using people. We said cheers and drank.

“I don't get it,” said Tanaka, tilting his head slightly to the side. “Why would you want to see a woman you fought with over a man?”

My mouth felt numb from the strong whiskey and soda. I answered him honestly. “It seems we may really have liked each other. In fact we might have had a little lesbian dynamic going on.”

Tanaka exploded into laughter. “You're honest, good for you.”

I kept gazing vaguely at his small shoes, inspecting the shape of his tiny hands, thinking about what I'd say to Haru if I actually connected with her. But as hard as I tried, I couldn't think of anything.