“Everything you’ve said lately has been right on the mark. So don’t worry. But what’s bothering you now, all of a sudden?”

“I don’t know, it just sort of popped into my mind after he left, while I was waiting for you. I wondered if I hadn’t gone too far.”

I got two cans of beer from the refrigerator, switched on the stereo, and put on the Richie Beirach Trio at very low volume. It was the record I listened to whenever I came home drunk in the middle of the night.

“I’m sure you’re a little confused,” I said. “These changes in life are like changes in the barometric pressure. I’m kind of confused, too, in my own way.”

She nodded.

“Am I being hard on you?” she asked.

“Everybody’s hard on somebody,” I said. “But if I’m the one you chose to be hard on, you made the right choice. So don’t let it worry you.”

“Sometimes, I don’t know, it scares me. The future.”

“You have to make an effort to always look at the good side, always think about the good things. Then you’ve got nothing to be afraid of. If something bad comes up, you do more thinking at that point.” I gave her the same speech I had given Noboru Watanabe.

“But what if things don’t work out the way you want them to?”

“If they don’t work out, that’s when you think again.”

She gave a little laugh. “You’re as strange as ever.”

“Say, can I ask you one question?” I yanked open another can of beer.

“Sure.”

“How many men did you sleep with before him?”

She hesitated a moment before holding up two fingers. “Two.”

“And one was your age, and the other was an older man?”

“How did you know?”

“It’s a pattern.” I took another swig of beer. “I haven’t been fooling around for nothing all these years. I’ve learned that much.”

“So, I’m typical.”

“Let’s just say ‘healthy.’ “

“How many girls have you slept with?”

“Twenty-six. I counted them up the other day. There were twenty-six I could remember. There might be another ten or so I can’t remember. I’m not keeping a diary or anything.”

“Why do you sleep with so many girls?”

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “I guess I’ll have to stop at some point, but I can’t seem to figure out how.”

We remained silent for a while, alone with our own thoughts. From the distance came the sound of a motorcycle’s exhaust, but it couldn’t have been Noboru Watanabe’s. Not at one o’clock in the morning.

“Tell me,” she said, “what do you really think of him?”

“Noboru Watanabe?”

“Uh-huh.”