“Sorry,” said the girl. “I’m telling you the truth.”

“Never mind. It’s not your fault. I’m to blame.”

“You’re to blame for my period?” she asked with an odd look.

“No, it’s just the way things worked out.” What a stupid question.

I drove her to her house in Setagaya. On the way, the clutch started making funny rattling noises. I’d probably have to bring it into the garage soon, I thought with a sigh. It was one of those classic days, when one thing goes wrong and then everything goes with it.

“Can I invite you out again soon?” I asked.

“On a date? Or to a hotel?”

“Both,” I said with a smile. “The two go together. You know. Like a toothbrush and toothpaste.”

“Maybe. I’ll think about it.”

“You do that. Thinking is good for you. It keeps you from getting senile.”

“Where do you live? Can I come and visit?”

“Sorry. I live with my sister. We’ve got rules. I don’t bring women home, and she doesn’t bring men.”

“Yeah, like she’s really your sister.”

“It’s true. Next time I’ll bring a copy of our lease. Sunday okay?”

She laughed. “Okay.”

I watched her go in through her gate. Then I started my engine and drove home, listening for those clutch noises.

The apartment was pitch-black. I turned on the light and called my sister’s name, but she wasn’t there. What the hell was she doing out at ten o’clock at night? I looked for the evening paper but couldn’t find it. Of course. It was Sunday.

I got a beer from the refrigerator and carried it and a glass into the living room. I switched on the stereo and dropped a new Herbie Hancock record on the turntable. Waiting for the music to start, I took a long swallow of beer. But nothing came from the speakers. Then I remembered. The stereo had gone on the blink three days earlier. The amp had power, but there was no sound.

This also made it impossible to watch TV. I have one of those monitors without any sound circuitry of its own. You have to use it with the stereo.

I stared at my silent TV screen and drank my beer. They were showing an old war movie. Rommel’s Afrika Korps tanks were fighting in the desert. Their cannons shot silent shells, their machine guns shot silent bullets, and people died silently, one after another.

I sighed for what must have been the sixteenth time that day.