“Really?” my sister piped up. “If you’re really thinking about getting married, I’ve got a good friend, a nice girl, I’d be glad to introduce you.”

“Sure. When the time comes,” I said. “Too dangerous now.”

WHEN DINNER WAS OVER, we moved to the living room for coffee. This time my sister put on a Willie Nelson record—maybe one small step up from Julio Iglesias.

My sister was in the kitchen, cleaning up, when Noboru Watanabe said to me with an air of confidentiality, “To tell you the truth, I wanted to stay single until I was closer to thirty, like you. But when I met her, all I could think of was getting married.”

“She’s a good kid,” I said. “She can be stubborn and a little constipated, but I really think you’ve made the right choice.”

“Still, the idea of getting married is kind of frightening, don’t you think?”

“Well, if you make an effort to always look at the good side, always think about the good things, there’s nothing to be afraid of. If something bad comes up, you can think again at that point.”

“You may be right.”

“I’m good at giving advice to others.”

I went to the kitchen and told my sister I would be going out for a walk. “I won’t come back before ten o’clock, so the two of you can relax and enjoy yourselves. The sheets are fresh.”

“Is that all you think about?” she said with an air of disgust, but she didn’t try to stop me from going out.

I went back to the living room and told Noboru Watanabe that I had an errand to run and might be late getting back.

“I’m glad we had a chance to talk,” he said. “Please be sure to visit us often after we’re married.”

“Thanks,” I said, momentarily shutting down my imagination.

“Don’t you dare drive,” my sister called out to me as I was leaving. “You’ve had too much to drink.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll walk.”

It was a little before eight when I entered a neighborhood bar. I sat at the counter, drinking an I.W. Harper on the rocks. The TV behind the bar was tuned to a Giants-Swallows game. The sound was off, and instead they had a Cyndi Lauper record going. The pitchers were Nishimoto and Obana, and the Swallows were ahead, 3-2. There was something to be said for watching TV with the sound off.

I had three whiskeys while I watched the ball game. It was the bottom of the seventh, score tied 3-3, when the broadcast ended at nine o’clock and the set was switched off. Two seats away from me was a girl around twenty I had seen there a few times. She had been watching the game, too, so I started talking to her about baseball.