His skin felt hot against my ear. I could hear his heart beating.

“But it'll be so crowded!” I said, giggling.

Tears were still trickling from my eyes, but I was feeling a little brighter.

“We should be able to see at least a little as long as we're somewhere in the neighborhood, even if we don't go right down to the riverbank. I know! Why don't we go for some eel?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Do you know any good restaurants?”

“Let's see . . . is that big place right on the road any good?”

“No, they're hopeless. They serve tempura and all sorts of other things there, you know, not just eel. That's the wrong way to go about it. Hold on, isn't there a place on one of those streets around back?”

“Oh yeah, there's that shop behind the temple. Let's go there!”

“With eel it's important that you have the feeling it's just been caught, you know, and that it's being served immediately. You've got to have that.”

“The consistency of the rice and the sauce are crucial too, of course. But only, I should note, when the eel is actually being served with rice.”

“Right, right. It makes you feel like you're about to throw up when the rice is mushy. God, you know eel used to be a real delicacy when I was a kid. . . .”

The two of us talked on and on about eel. And then, little by little, the trickle of our words began to dry up, and before long, at almost the same time, we'd both drifted off into a tranquil sleep. A sleep that was deep and warm, a sleep from which no dream would rouse us.

His wife must be in the very deepest depths of night.

Maybe Shiori is nearby? The darkness must be so dense . . .

Perhaps sometimes in my sleep I wander there, too?

These thoughts drifted through my mind just before I woke. Then the leaden clouds hanging in the sky outside the window slipped into my eyes, and I glanced over to my side and saw that my boyfriend was gone. Looking over at the clock, I was surprised to see that it was one in the afternoon. I was completely stunned—I shook my head as I climbed out of bed. There was a letter lying on the night table.

You sure sleep well for someone who doesn't work.

It seems like every woman I know is fast asleep.

I won't wake you, you're sleeping too soundly. I've extended the room reservation until two. Take your time. I'm off to work. I'll call you.

Each individual letter was as clearly printed as if he'd been practicing his handwriting—it was beautiful. Is this actually how he writes? I thought, and found myself overwhelmed by the illusion that what I had before me was an image of his form, a contour more palpable than the man I'd embraced the previous night. I kept staring at that letter for ages.