That does it. I let out another sigh. And I continued with my diary, thinking I’d better just finish logging it in.

Saturday, Hitler’s armored divisions invaded Poland. Dive bombers over Warsaw—

No, that’s not right. That’s not what happened. Hitler’s invasion of Poland was on September 1, 1939. Not yesterday. After dinner yesterday, I went to the movies and saw Meryl Streep in Sophie’s Choice. Hitler’s invasion of Poland only figured in the film.

In the film, Meryl Streep divorces Dustin Hoffman, but then in a commuter train she meets this civil engineer played by Robert De Niro, and remarries. A pretty all-right movie.

Sitting next to me was a high-school couple, and they kept touching each other on the tummy the whole time. Not bad at all, your high-school student’s tummy. Even me, time was I used to have a high-school student’s tummy.

4.
AND THE
REALM OF
RAGING
WINDS

ONCE I’D SQUARED away the previous week’s worth in my diary, I sat myself down in front of the record rack and picked out some music for a windy Sunday afternoon’s listening. I settled on a Shostakovich cello concerto and a Sly and the Family Stone album, selections that seemed suitable enough for high winds, and I listened to these two records one after the other.

Every so often, things would strafe past the window. A white sheet flying east to west like some sorcerer brewing an elixir of roots and herbs. A long, flimsy tin sign arching its sickly spine like an anal-sex enthusiast.

I was taking in the scene outside to the strains of the Shostakovich cello concerto when again the telephone rang. The alarm clock beside the telephone read 3:48.

I picked up the receiver fully expecting that Boeing 747 jet-engine roar, but this time there was no wind to be heard.

“Hello,” she said.

“Hello,” I said, too.

“I was just thinking about heading over with the fixings for the oyster hot pot, okay?” said my girlfriend. She’ll be on her way with groceries and a blindfold.

“Fine by me, but—”

“You have a casserole?”

“Yes, but,” I say, “what gives? I don’t hear that wind anymore.”

“Yeah, the wind’s stopped. Here in Nakano it let up at three twenty-five. So I don’t imagine it’ll be long before it lets up over there.”

“Maybe so,” I said as I hung up the telephone, then took down the casserole from the above-closet storage compartment and washed it in the sink.

Just as she had predicted, the winds stopped, at 4:05 on the dot. I opened the windows and looked around outside. Directly below, a black dog was intently sniffing around at the ground. For fifteen or twenty minutes, the dog kept at it tirelessly. I couldn’t imagine why the dog felt so compelled.