"Euripides," she said "Electra "Electra. 'No G.o.d hearkens to my helpless cry.' You know-the cla.s.s just ended."

I stared at her hard. She took off her sungla.s.ses. At last I remembered her-a freshman I had seen in History of Drama. A striking change in hairstyle had kept me from recognizing her.

"Oh," I said, touching a spot a few inches below my shoulder, "your hair was down to here before summer break."

"You're right," she said. "I had a perm this summer, and it was just awful just awful. I was ready to kill myself. I looked like a corpse on the beach with seaweed stuck to my head. So I figured as long as I was ready to die, I might as well cut it all off. At least it's cool in the summer." She ran her hand through her pixie cut and gave me a smile.

"It looks good, though," I said, still munching on my omelette. "Let me see your profile."

She turned away and held the pose for a few seconds.

"Yeah, I thought so. It really looks good on you. Nicely shaped head. Pretty ears, too, uncovered like that."

"So I'm not not crazy after all! I thought I looked good myself once I cut it all off. Not one guy likes it, though. They all tell me I look like a first-grader or a concentration camp survivor. What's this thing that guys have for girls with long hair? Fascists, the whole bunch of them! Why do guys all think girls with long hair are the cla.s.siest, the sweetest, the most feminine? I mean, I myself know at least two hundred and fifty crazy after all! I thought I looked good myself once I cut it all off. Not one guy likes it, though. They all tell me I look like a first-grader or a concentration camp survivor. What's this thing that guys have for girls with long hair? Fascists, the whole bunch of them! Why do guys all think girls with long hair are the cla.s.siest, the sweetest, the most feminine? I mean, I myself know at least two hundred and fifty un uncla.s.sy girls with long hair. Really."

"I think you look better now than you did before," I said. And I meant it. As far as I could recall, with long hair she had been just another cute coed. From the girl who sat before me now, though, surged a fresh and physical life force. She was like a small animal that has popped into the world with the coming of spring. Her eyes moved like an independent organism with joy, laughter, anger, amazement, and despair. I hadn't seen a face so vivid and expressive in ages, and I enjoyed watching it live and move. coed. From the girl who sat before me now, though, surged a fresh and physical life force. She was like a small animal that has popped into the world with the coming of spring. Her eyes moved like an independent organism with joy, laughter, anger, amazement, and despair. I hadn't seen a face so vivid and expressive in ages, and I enjoyed watching it live and move.

"Do you mean it?" she asked.

I nodded, still munching on my salad.

She put her dark sungla.s.ses on and looked at me from behind them.

"You're not lying, are you?"

"I like to think of myself as an honest man," I said.

"Far out."

"So tell me: why do you wear such dark gla.s.ses?"

"I felt defenseless when my hair got short all of a sudden. Like somebody threw me into a crowd all naked."

"Makes sense," I said, eating the last of my omelette. She watched me with intense interest.

"You don't have to go back to them?" I asked, motioning toward her three companions.

"Nah. I'll go back when they serve the food. Am I interrupting your meal?"

"There's nothing left to interrupt," I said, ordering coffee when she showed no sign of leaving. The wife took my dishes and brought cream and sugar.

"Now you you tell tell me," me," she said. "Why didn't you answer today when they called the roll? You she said. "Why didn't you answer today when they called the roll? You are are Watanabe, aren't you? Toru Watanabe?" Watanabe, aren't you? Toru Watanabe?"

"That's me."

"So why didn't you answer?"

"I just didn't feel like it today."

She took her sungla.s.ses off again, set them on the table, and looked at me as if she were staring into the cage of some rare animal at the zoo. "'I just didn't feel like it today.' You talk like Humphrey Bogart. Cool. Tough."

"Don't be silly. I'm just an ordinary guy. Like everybody else."

The wife brought my coffee and set it on the table. I took a sip without adding sugar or cream.

"Look at that. You drink it black."

"It's got nothing to do with Humphrey Bogart," I explained patiently, "I just don't happen to like sweets. I think you've got me all wrong."

"Why are you so tanned?"

"I've been hiking around the last couple of weeks. Backpack. Sleeping bag."

"Where'd you go?"

"Kanazawa. Noto Peninsula. Up to Niigata."

"Alone?"

"Alone," I said. "Found some company here and there."

"Some romantic company? New women in far-off places."

"Romantic? Now I know know you've got me wrong. How's a guy with a sleeping bag on his back and his face all stubbly supposed to have romance?" you've got me wrong. How's a guy with a sleeping bag on his back and his face all stubbly supposed to have romance?"

"Do you always travel alone like that?"

"Uh-huh."

"You enjoy solitude?" she asked, leaning her cheek on her hand. "Traveling alone, eating alone, sitting off by yourself in lecture halls ..."

"n.o.body likes being alone that much. I don't go out of my way to make friends, that's all. It just leads to disappointment."

The tip of one earpiece in her mouth, sungla.s.ses dangling down, she mumbled, "'n.o.body likes being alone. I just hate to be disappointed.' You can use that line if you ever write your autobiography."

"Thanks," I said.

"Do you like green?"

"Why do you ask?"

"You're wearing a green polo shirt."

"Not especially. I'll wear anything."

"'Not especially. I'll wear anything.' I love the way you talk. Like spreading plaster nice and smooth. Has anybody ever told you that?"

"n.o.body," I said.

"My name's Midori," she said. "'Green.' But green looks terrible on me. Weird, huh? It's like I'm cursed, don't you think? My sister's name is Momoko: 'Peach Girl.'"

"Does she look good in pink?"

"She looks great great in pink! She was in pink! She was born born to wear pink. It's totally unfair." to wear pink. It's totally unfair."

The food arrived at Midori's table, and a guy in a madras jacket called out to her, "Hey, Midori, come 'n' get it!" She waved at him as if to say "I know."

"Say, tell me," she said, "do you take lecture notes? In drama?"

"Sure do."

"I hate to ask, but could I borrow your notes? I've missed twice, and I don't know anybody in the cla.s.s."

"No problem," I said, and pulled the notebook from my bag. After checking to make sure I hadn't written anything in it I didn't want seen, I handed it to Midori.

"Thanks," she said. "Are you coming to school the day after tomorrow?"

"Sure am."

"Meet me here at noon. I'll give you back your notebook and buy you lunch. I mean ... it's not like you get an upset stomach or anything if you don't eat alone, right?"

"No way," I said. "But you don't have to buy me lunch just 'cause I'm lending you my notebook."

"Don't worry," she said. "I like to buy people lunch. But anyhow, shouldn't you write it down somewhere? You won't forget?"

"I won't forget. Day after tomorrow. Twelve o'clock. Midori. Green."

From the other table, somebody called out, "Hurry up, Midori, your food's getting cold!"

She ignored the call and asked me, "Have you always talked like that?"

"I think so," I said. "Never noticed before." And in fact no one had ever told me there was anything unusual about the way I spoke.

She seemed to be mulling something over for a few seconds. Then she stood up with a smile and went back to her table. She waved to me as I walked past a few minutes later, but the three others barely glanced in my direction.

At noon on Wednesday there was no sign of Midori in the restaurant. I thought I might wait for her over a beer, but the place started to fill up as soon as the drink came, so I ordered lunch and ate alone. I finished at 12:35, but still no Midori. Paying my bill, I went outside and crossed the street to a little shrine, where I waited on the stone steps for the beer buzz to clear and Midori to come. I gave up at one o'clock and went to read in the library. At two I went to my German cla.s.s.

When the lecture ended, I went to the student affairs office and looked for Midori's name in the cla.s.s list for History of Drama. The only Midori in the cla.s.s was Midori Kobayashi. Next I flipped through the cards of the student files and found the address and phone number of a Midori Kobayashi who had entered the university in 1969. She lived in a northwest suburb, Toshima, with her family. I slipped into a phone booth and dialed the number. Kobayashi who had entered the university in 1969. She lived in a northwest suburb, Toshima, with her family. I slipped into a phone booth and dialed the number.

A man answered: "Kobayashi Bookstore." Kobayashi Bookstore?

"Sorry to bother you," I said, "but I wonder if Midori might be in?"

"No, she's not," he said.

"Do you think she might be on campus?"

"Hmm, no, she's probably at the hospital. Who's calling, please?"

Instead of answering, I thanked him and hung up. The hospital? Could she have been injured or taken sick? But the man had spoken without the least sense of emergency. "She's probably at the hospital," he had said, as easily as he might have said, "She's at the fish store." I thought about a few other possibilities until thinking itself became a bother, then I went back to the dorm and stretched out on my bed, finishing a copy of Conrad's Lord Jim Lord Jim that I had borrowed from Nagasawa. When I was through, I went to Nagasawa's room to give it back. that I had borrowed from Nagasawa. When I was through, I went to Nagasawa's room to give it back.

Nagasawa was on his way out to the dining hall, so I went with him and ate supper.

"How'd the exams go?" I asked. The second round of upper-level exams for the Foreign Ministry had been held in August.

"Like always," said Nagasawa as if it had been nothing. "You take 'em, you pa.s.s. Group discussions, interviews ... like screwin' a chick."

"In other words, easy," I said. "When do they let you know?"

"First week of October. If I pa.s.s, I'll buy you a big dinner."

"So tell me, what kind of guys make it to round two? All superstars like you?"

"Don't be stupid. They're a bunch of idiots. Idiots or weirdos. I'd say ninety-five percent of the guys who want to be bureaucrats aren't worth s.h.i.t. I'm not kidding. They can barely read."

"So why are you trying to join the Foreign Ministry?"

"All kinds of reasons," said Nagasawa. "I like the idea of working overseas, for one. But mainly I want to test my abilities. If I'm going to test myself, I want to do it in the biggest field there is-the nation. I want to see how high I can climb, how much power I can exercise in this insanely huge bureaucratic system. See what I mean?"

"Sounds like a game."

"It is is a game. I don't give a d.a.m.n about power and money per se. a game. I don't give a d.a.m.n about power and money per se.

Really, I don't. I may be a selfish b.a.s.t.a.r.d, but I'm incredibly cool about s.h.i.t like that. I could be a Zen saint. The one thing I do have, though, is curiosity. I want to see what I can do out there in the big, tough world." Really, I don't. I may be a selfish b.a.s.t.a.r.d, but I'm incredibly cool about s.h.i.t like that. I could be a Zen saint. The one thing I do have, though, is curiosity. I want to see what I can do out there in the big, tough world."

"And you have no use for 'ideals,' I suppose."

"None. Life doesn't require ideals. It requires standards of action."

"But there are lots of other ways to live, aren't there?" I asked.

"You like the way I live, don't you?"

"That's beside the point," I said. "I could never get into Tokyo University, I can't sleep with any girl I want whenever I want to, I'm no great talker, people don't look up to me, I haven't got a girlfriend, and the future's not going to open up to me when I get a literature B.A. from a second-rate private college. What does it matter if I like the way you live?"

"Are you saying you envy envy the way I live?" the way I live?"

"No, I don't," I said. "I'm too used to being who I am. And I don't really give a d.a.m.n about Tokyo University or the Foreign Ministry. The one thing I envy you for is having a terrific girlfriend like Hatsumi."

Nagasawa shut up and ate. When we were finished with supper, he said, "You know, Watanabe, I have this feeling like, maybe ten years or twenty years after we get out of this place, we're going to meet up again somewhere. And one way or another, I think we're going to have some connection."

"Sounds like d.i.c.kens," I said with a smile.

"I guess it does," he said, smiling back. "But my hunches are usually right."

The two of us left the dining hall and went out to a bar. We stayed there drinking until after nine.

"Tell me, Nagasawa," I asked, "what is the 'standard of action' in your your life?" life?"