I pulled into a drive-in for a little pick-me-up and ordered a Coca-Cola and spaghetti. The spaghetti was so utterly disgusting I could finish only half of it. But if you really want to know, I wasn’t hungry anyway. A sickly-looking waitress cleared the table, and I dozed off right there, seated on the vinyl-covered chair. The place was empty, after all, and the air-conditioning just right. It was only a short nap—no dreams. If anything, the nap itself seemed like a dream. Although when I opened my eyes, the sun’s rays weren’t as intense as they had been. I drank another Coke, then paid the bill with the ten-thousand-yen note I’d just received.

I went out to the parking lot, got in the van, put the keys on the dashboard, and smoked a cigarette. Loads of minuscule aches came over my weary muscles all at once. All things considered, I was worn out. I put aside any notion of driving and just sank into the seat. I smoked another cigarette. Everything seemed so far off, like looking through the wrong end of a pair of binoculars. “I’m sure you must want many things from me,” my girlfriend had written, “but I myself just can’t conceive that there’s anything in me you’d want.”

All I wanted, it came to me, was to mow a good lawn. To give it a once-over with the lawn mower, rake up the clippings, and then trim it nice and even with clippers—that’s all. And that, I can do. Because that’s the way I feel it ought to be done.

Isn’t that right? I spoke out loud.

No answer.

Ten minutes later, the manager of the drive-in came out and crouched by the van to inquire if everything was all right.

“I felt a little faint,” I said.

“Yes, it’s been a scorcher. Shall I bring you some water?”

“Thank you. But really, I’m fine.”

I pulled out of the parking lot and started east. On both sides of the road were different homes, different yards, different people all leading different lives. My hands on the wheel, I took in the whole passing panorama, the lawn mower rattling all the while in the compartment behind.

NOT ONCE SINCE then have I mowed a lawn. Someday, though, should I come to live in a house with a lawn, I’ll probably be mowing again. That’ll be a good while yet, I figure. But when that time comes, I’m sure to do the job just right.

—translated by Alfred Birnbaum

THE SILENCE

SO I TURNED to Ozawa and asked him, had he ever punched out a guy in an argument?