Yuichi didn't reply.

That day, after they'd finished the butaman butaman, Miho took him to the shower. He wasn't as hesitant as before, though he still turned away when she tried to touch his soapy penis.

Yuichi invariably chose the most popular forty-minutes-for-5,800 menu. Subtracting the time they were in the shower, that left them a scant thirty minutes alone, but that was usually more than enough for the client to get what he came for.

Whenever there was any time left over, most clients, greedy to get their money's worth, wanted to do it a second time. But Yuichi came soon after they took a shower, and when she tried to touch him afterward, he rebuffed her. He was content for them to just rest their heads on their arms and gaze up at the ceiling.

He was an easy client. The more he visited her, the more relaxed she became with him, even nodding off occasionally as she lay there staring at the ceiling. And before long, Yuichi began to open up more about himself.

The next time he brought her cakes. He always brought something to eat and they would share the food in the cramped little room. She grew more used to him, and rather than insist on a shower, she started making cold tea or coffee for him at the start of each session.

It was probably the fifth, or maybe the sixth, time he paid her a visit that he brought a homemade box lunch for them. It was the afternoon of a holiday.

Ah, so he's brought something again, she thought, taking the paper bag from him, but when she opened it she found a two-tier lunch box with a picture of Snoopy on it.

"A box lunch?" Miho couldn't keep from asking in surprise, and Yuichi shyly lifted the lid.

The top tier contained fried omelets, sausages, chicken nuggets, and potato salad. The layer below was packed with rice, and different colored furikake furikake flakes, each carefully separated from the other. flakes, each carefully separated from the other.

As she took the lunch box from him, for an instant the idea flashed before her that Yuichi had a girlfriend, that this girlfriend had made him the lunch but he was giving it to her. But when she asked, "Why did you bring me this?" Yuichi, shyly looking down, muttered, "I'm afraid it might not be so good...."

"You mean you you made it?" Miho couldn't help asking in surprise as Yuichi pulled apart a pair of disposable chopsticks and passed them over. made it?" Miho couldn't help asking in surprise as Yuichi pulled apart a pair of disposable chopsticks and passed them over.

"The chicken nuggets are leftover ones my grandmother made last night...."

Miho looked at Yuichi, astonished. Yuichi sat there, like a child awaiting the results of a test, waiting for Miho to taste it.

Miho had already heard that he lived with his grandparents. She never wanted to know about her clients' background, so she hadn't asked any more.

"No kidding? You really made this yourself?"

Miho picked up a piece of the fluffy omelets with her chopsticks. They tasted slightly sweet.

"I like omelets with a bit of sugar in them," Yuichi explained, and Miho replied, "I like sweet omelets, too."

"The potato salad's really good."

It wasn't as if they were on some spring picnic in a park. They were in a tiny, windowless room in a massage parlor, a stack of tissue boxes to one side.

After this day Yuichi always brought homemade box lunches with him when he came to see her.

When he asked her about her shift, she'd tell him her schedule, and say things like "I'm usually hungriest around nine." Before she knew it she was looking forward to his box lunches.

"Nobody really taught me how to cook, but I picked it up. I kind of like to watch my grandma prepare fish, though I hate all the cleaning up afterward...."

Yuichi said all this as he watched Miho, in her gaudy negligee, eating the box lunch.

His lunches really were tasty, and Miho started to put in requests. "Can you include the hikiji hikiji like last time?" she'd ask. like last time?" she'd ask.

After they finished eating Yuichi liked to lie beside her, hands behind his head.

As she reviewed the lunch they'd just eaten, Miho would play with his penis. She was paid for her services, of course, but she also felt she needed to thank him for the tasty food.

"You never ask to see me outside of here, do you?" she asked once, just after the alarm went off signaling that they had five minutes left. Miho's hand was inside his underpants, and Yuichi was busily kneading her breasts.

"Most regular customers always invite us out. It's like, Hey, let's go on a date next time."

Yuichi didn't reply, so Miho asked him again. At that instant, Yuichi's fingers suddenly stopped moving over her breasts.

"What do you mean, invite you? You mean like we meet outside of here!?"

Yuichi was seething. To Miho it felt as though his fingers were speaking, for they squeezed her breasts hard, not so hard they hurt, but hard enough.

She twisted away. "I'm not going to date you. No way," she announced, and got out of bed. Yuichi roughly grabbed her arm.

"Just seeing you here is enough for me," Yuichi said. "We can be by ourselves here. Just the two of us, with nobody bothering us."

"Well, for forty minutes, at least," Miho said, laughing.

"Then next time I'll do the hour menu," Yuichi said, looking serious.

At first she thought he was joking, but he didn't smile.

It was time for lights out on the ward, and the nurse came by to switch off the overhead light. Miho lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking about Yuichi, but as soon as the lights were off, she slipped out of bed.

In the bed nearest the entrance there was still a small light on; it seemed as if that was the only place where time still flowed. Through the curtain she could see the shadow of somebody reading. Behind the curtain was a girl attending a local junior college, who'd had liver problems since she was young. She had darkish skin but a cute face. It was clear she'd been raised in a loving family.

Miho went out of the ward, trying not to make a sound in her slippers, and headed toward the bank of elevators. In the hallway was a line of orange vinyl tape indicating the toilets and bathroom.

She got into one of the oversize elevators, big enough to accommodate gurneys. As she descended she was hit by the sensation that the whole building was ascending and she alone was standing still.

On the first floor the old lady was still soothing the little boy, but the place was otherwise quiet, the only sound the hum of the vending machine.

Even if she saw Yuichi, it wasn't as if there was anything she wanted to talk with him about. She'd been the one who trampled on his feelings, and she couldn't very well face him now. Maybe two weeks in the hospital with hardly anyone coming to see her had weakened her will.

Still, she wanted to say something to him, especially after seeing him helping an old man into the hospital. If he could only tell her he was all right, that he was going out with an ordinary girl now. She'd been cruel when she broke up with him, and if he told her that, she felt that she could be forgiven for the way she'd acted.

Even though she worked for a massage parlor, Yuichi had rented an apartment on his own and had wanted them to live together.

As Miho watched her soothing the boy in the baby carriage, the old woman suddenly turned and said, "It's nice and quiet here so I can relax." She'd seen the old woman a number of times, but this was the first time she'd spoken to her.

Still wondering if she was going to see Yuichi again, Miho stiffened and approached the old woman, as if drawn to her. It was the first time she'd looked at the little boy up close. She'd imagined how twisted his body was, but the reality was far worse, and his weak, unfocused eyes wandered.

"Hey there, Mamoru." Miho rubbed the boy's frail arm.

The old woman gave her a suspicious look, apparently wondering how she knew the boy's name.

"The nurse called him that," Miho explained quickly, and the old woman, looking satisfied, said, "Mamoru's a popular little boy, now, aren't you? Everybody knows you." She stroked the boy's sweaty forehead as she spoke.

"If you rub him like this it takes away some of the pain," the old woman said, stroking the limp little boy's shoulder. The vending machine started humming a bit more loudly.

Lots of things to say sprang to Miho's mind, but for some reason she couldn't say them. She sat down next to the old woman and, following her lead, rubbed the arms and legs sticking out of the baby carriage.

Just then the elevator door slid open and Yuichi came out. The old man wasn't with him now, and he had a sullen look on his face, hands stuck in his jeans pockets. Yuichi glanced in Miho's direction but apparently didn't notice her. He looked away and strode off.

"Yuichi!" Miho called out to him, as his retreating figure headed toward the entrance that was soon to be locked up for the night. Yuichi halted, startled for a second, and turned around guardedly. Miho stood up from the bench and looked directly at him.

The little boy's leg, which she'd just been rubbing, brushed against her thigh. It moved, as if he was asking her to rub him some more.

The moment Yuichi's eyes met hers the strength drained out of him. Without thinking, though she was still standing far away, Miho reached out her hand to him.

She hurriedly went over to him. She could see his face grow paler with each step.

"Are you-okay?" she asked, taking his arm. She'd just been holding the little boy's arm, and for an instant the feeling gave her goose bumps. "I saw you a little while ago bringing in an old man and so I waited here for you."

For a second the thought struck Miho that he wasn't bringing the old man to the hospital, but that it was Yuichi himself who was sick.

"Anyway, why don't we just sit down for a while?"

Miho tugged at his arm but he shrugged loose as if trying to get away.

"It's not like I'm trying to apologize or anything," she said. "It's been two years, after all.... It's just that I haven't seen you in so long, and it brings back lots of memories."

She'd gotten closer than she'd realized and took a step back. The color slowly returned to Yuichi's pale face.

"Excuse me, I didn't mean to keep you," Miho apologized.

She wanted him to tell her that he was okay now. That's all she wanted to hear, why she'd called out to him. But the instant Yuichi had spotted her, he'd blanched.

She could only conclude that Yuichi still hadn't forgiven her. She'd called out to him, thinking that the passage of time had softened things, only to be struck by the realization that that was the self-centered thinking of someone who'd betrayed another person.

"I, uh ... have to get going," Yuichi managed to say, glancing at the entrance.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have ..." Miho apologized.

It was obvious he had no feelings for her anymore, but still Miho found his attitude cold.

Yuichi hurriedly exited the hospital. His figure as he headed toward the parking lot was lit up in the moonlight. The parking lot was nearby, Miho knew, but to her it looked as if he were heading somewhere far, far away. As if he were making his way toward another night altogether, one that lay beyond the present.

Yuichi disappeared into the lot. As if they hadn't just seen each other for the first time in two years, he didn't turn around, not once.

Three days had passed since the murder at Mitsuse Pass and all the TV talk shows were filled with reports on the incident. No matter what channel you turned to, there was the cold winter pass, the usual reporters standing in front of it as they professed their hatred for the murderer and his crime.

The talk show reports all basically boiled down to the same story line: A twenty-one-year-old woman working for an insurance company in Fukuoka City was murdered and her body was dumped at Mitsuse Pass. At approximately ten-thirty that night the woman said goodbye to her colleagues near the apartment building their company leased and went to see her boyfriend at a place a three-minute walk away. The boyfriend had not been heard from since. The police were looking for him as a material witness, but according to his friends, he'd been missing the past three or four days.

Along with the summary of the murder details scrolling along the screen, the TV showed scenes of the freezing pass to dramatize the cruelty of the deed. In contrast, when they discussed the missing boyfriend, relating how he was the most popular student on campus most popular student on campus, how he drove an expensive foreign car and lived alone in a condo in a high-end section of Fukuoka high-end section of Fukuoka, the screen was filled with lively scenes from the upscale Tenjin and Nakasu neighborhoods. To viewers it was obvious from the newscasters' tones that it was 99 percent certain that this boyfriend was the criminal.

Kanji Hayashi, an instructor at a local juku juku, a prep school, was one of these viewers. As he stared fixedly at the TV screen in his apartment, he didn't seem to notice that the piece of toast with marmalade in his hand was growing cold. It was three p.m., about time he had to get going or else he'd be late to class, but he remained glued to his chair.

Hayashi had first learned of the murder two days before, after he got up in the afternoon and had switched on the TV, just as now. At first he'd just thought, Hmm ... over at Mitsuse Pass, huh? Hmm ... over at Mitsuse Pass, huh? but when the photo of the victim came on the screen he'd nearly choked on his orange juice. but when the photo of the victim came on the screen he'd nearly choked on his orange juice.

To him she wasn't Yoshino Ishibashi, but Mia, a girl he'd met three months ago online.

Hayashi hurriedly checked his call records, and though it was unlikely he'd saved any since it was a while ago, he did find one e-mail from her: Thank you very much for everything the other day. It was lots of fun. But as I was telling you, I'm being transferred next month to Tokyo and it doesn't look like I'll be able to see you anymore. I'm really sorry about the bad timing. Thank you so much. Bye bye. Mia.

So the only message from her left on his phone was this last one, basically telling him not to get in touch anymore. All the enormous numbers of messages they'd exchanged before that had vanished, but not the memory of the day he'd met Yoshino Ishibashi/Mia. That was still crystal clear in his mind.

They'd arranged to meet in the lobby of a hotel next to the Fukuoka Dome. A long bench encircled the spacious lobby, and it was nearly filled with families staying at the hotel.

Mia showed up ten minutes late. She didn't quite live up to the photo she'd e-mailed him, but to a forty-two-year-old bachelor like Hayashi, this young girl was still as cute as a ladybug. There was nothing hesitant about her. She pulled out a taxi receipt for the ride over to the hotel and asked him to reimburse her. He'd told her to take a taxi when she'd said that the hotel was far away for her, but still, when she pulled out the receipt and demanded payment before she'd even said hello, it struck Hayashi that their meeting was definitely a business transaction.

"I don't have a lot of time," Mia told him. Hayashi decided to skip going to a coffee shop first, as he'd been planning to do, and they drove directly to a love hotel.

This wasn't the first time Hayashi had done this. He handed over the thirty thousand yen he'd promised and they wasted no time going up to their cramped little guest room.

It was obvious that this wasn't the first time for Mia, either. As soon as she got the cash, she stripped off her clothes and, just in her underwear, asked, "Okay with you if I order some drinks?" and called the front desk. Her ribs showed just below her full breasts, but her belly had a slight roll of fat.

Hayashi had never been with a prostitute, but watching her seated on the bed phoning the front desk, to him that's what she looked like. She seemed to enjoy their time in bed. Her skin and vagina got so wet he couldn't see it as just an act done for money.

An amateur pretending to be a prostitute, or an amateur prostitute-Hayashi couldn't decide which was more erotic. Maybe it didn't matter, they were women all the same, but Hayashi couldn't help thinking that there was something very different about the two.

The talk-show report on the murder at Mitsuse Pass finished, and Hayashi finally put down his piece of toast, a neat half-moon of tooth marks from the single bite he'd taken carved out of it.

Over the past couple of days he'd mulled over this notion that a girl he'd met just once had been killed by someone, and though he could understand it on a conceptual level, emotionally he couldn't absorb the reality.

If he were to compare it to anything, it was maybe like the mixed feelings he'd had when he saw a girl from his junior high school days appear on local TV as a newscaster, the mixture of ridicule and envy he'd felt when he couldn't believe she was actually on TV reporting the news. Mia was no newscaster, however. The only reason she was on TV was because somebody had strangled her and dumped her body out in the cold.

The criminal must be somebody just like me, Hayashi thought. She met another guy like me online, the only difference being that this other guy turned out to be a murderer She met another guy like me online, the only difference being that this other guy turned out to be a murderer.

Hayashi didn't know if he was trying to justify, or ridicule, himself. Of course I didn't kill her Of course I didn't kill her, he thought, but the murdered girl is someone I knew, and was killed by someone very much like me but the murdered girl is someone I knew, and was killed by someone very much like me. The murderer must have viewed her as an amateur playing at being a prostitute. If he'd seen her as an amateur prostitute he might never have felt like killing her.

He was going to be late for class, so he switched off the TV and adjusted his tie before heading out. That's when a knock came at the front door. Thinking it must be a poorly timed delivery, Hayashi gruffly yanked open the door. Two men in suits stood there, like a wall blocking his way.

"Kanji Hayashi?"

At first he couldn't figure out which one had spoken. Both men were around thirty, with identical crew cuts.

"Uh ... yeah. Yes."

He knew immediately that it was about the murder. He'd known this day would come. Once they examined her cell phone, his number would surely come out.

"We have a few things we'd like to ask you...."

The two detectives spoke almost simultaneously. "I understand," Hayashi said, nodding quietly, and hurriedly added, "No, that isn't what I mean. You're here about the murder at Mitsuse Pass, right?"