He emerged from the alley where the parking lot was and could see in the distance the sign Ishibashi Barbershop. For a moment he couldn’t believe it. After Yoshino had been killed, he hadn’t once switched on the light on the barber pole outside the shop, but now he could swear it was on and revolving.

Dubious, Yoshio stepped up his pace, and as he approached his shop he could see that indeed the barber pole was revolving. He started running. Out of breath by the time he reached the shop, he yanked open the front door. There weren’t any customers inside, just Satoko, dressed in her white barber’s coat, folding freshly laundered towels.

“You… you opened the shop?” Yoshio asked.

Surprised by his sudden appearance, Satoko, eyes wide, said, “Oh! You startled me.” She went on, smiling, “If I don’t open it, who will? Mr. Sonobe came in a while ago for a cut.”

“And you cut it?”

These past few years, Satoko had grown to hate touching customers’ hair, and had avoided working in the shop. But here she was now, decked out in her barber’s coat, right in front of him.

“You must have been worried,” Yoshio said.

Satoko went back to folding the towels and silently shook her head.

“Well, I’m back,” Yoshio said.

The setting sun shone through the glass door, and the name Ishibashi Barbershop formed a shadow at their feet.

Fusae declined to have the scarf wrapped and tied it around her neck. The clerk had shown her a special way to tie it. Fusae paid and left the shop. Just a scarf, but buying it made her feel light and happy.

She cut across a park and came out behind the bus terminal. At night the area was lined with small stands selling food and drinks, but it was still early and there were only a few stands there, all locked up with tin sheets and chains. Down the road was a large pay-by-the-hour parking lot, and beyond that the bustling shopping district.

She’d seen this parking lot before, back then, from the window of that room where she was surrounded by those men. She’d been so frightened she couldn’t lift her head, but the leader of the group, who occasionally spoke to her kindly, brought her a cup of hot tea, and she managed a quick glance out the window.

Fusae continued down the street, and was at the fence around the parking lot when, taking a deep breath, she slowly turned around and glanced up at the building behind her. It was the kind of old multiuse building you find anywhere, with a narrow staircase up to the second floor. She could make out the bottom half of the blue door of the elevator.

A young family, the father holding his little daughter on his shoulders, was walking nearby, perhaps on their way to have a meal in Chinatown. The little girl had on a kind of Santa Claus hat that she evidently found uncomfortable and was trying to yank off, while her mother walking beside her adjusted it.

Fusae clutched the bag in her hand more tightly, took another deep breath, and set off again. She thought she was walking along pretty steadily, but she began to feel something trembling beneath her, as if she were walking on a board floating in the water.

She went into the gloomy building. As she stepped onto the first step of the stairs, its tiles starting to come off, she suddenly felt like fleeing and grabbed on to the handrail.

Yuichi, honey-where are you?

She walked up another step.

Remember that no matter what happens, Grandma’s always on your side.

You need to do what’s right, too. You’re scared, aren’t you? But you can’t run away. You have to do the right thing. Grandma’s not going to let them beat me, either.

Fusae touched the elevator button. The heavy bag made her arm tremble. The door opened. It was a tiny elevator that couldn’t hold more than three at a time. She went inside and pushed the button for the third floor. She kept on pushing it until the door closed.

The elevator door opened again and she stepped out into a dim hallway. A single door was at the end.

Yuichi, you can’t run away. I know you’re scared, but you can’t run. Running away’s not going to change anything. That’s not going to help anybody.

Fusae found herself muttering this aloud as she walked down the corridor. She stood in front of the door and could hear men laughing inside. Her body felt tense. The sound of a TV mixed in with the laughter. She heard a girl on a roller coaster: a thundering sound, the girl’s shrieks, and every time she shrieked, a roar of laughter from the men watching, right behind this door.

Fusae gritted her back teeth and turned the cold doorknob. The door was unlocked and opened easily, cigarette smoke wafting out.

She saw the backs of three men, sprawled out on a sofa in front of the TV. The one who looked the youngest noticed Fusae standing there. “Yeah?” he said, as if he couldn’t be bothered. Fusae took a step forward. The man who’d spoken to her stood up, and the other two stared at her.

“Whaddaya want, old woman?”

The man who’d stood up approached her. The other two had gone back to watching TV.

“I never intended to… sign a year’s contract,” Fusae managed.

“Huh? What’s that?” the young man said as if he hadn’t heard her.

“I never intended to make a year’s contract!” she shouted. “And I want you to cancel it.” Things started to swim before her eyes, and she felt about to faint. At the shout, the two on the sofa turned around again.

“I want you to cancel it!” she shouted, the spit flying. “I don’t have that kind of money, so you have to cancel it!”

The bag in her hands swung around as she spoke and struck a shelf. The three men burst out laughing, but Fusae didn’t hear them.

“I’ve struggled all my life. And I’m not about to let people like you make a fool out of me!”

Her breathing ragged now, Fusae strode out of the office. She bumped against the walls on both sides as she walked down the corridor. If they want to come, let ’em, she thought. They want to laugh at me, let ’em. But beyond the door to the office there was no laughter, no footsteps about to chase after her. The gloomy hallway was so silent it was creepy.

The setting sun was just grazing the horizon. Yuichi was standing on the far edge of the cliff following a pair of seabirds with his eyes as they flew off into the sun.

Without waiting for sunset, he walked back to the caretaker’s shack at the lighthouse. It wasn’t warm inside, but he could feel how chilled he’d become standing on the cliff.

On the plywood board was the sleeping bag that Mitsuyo had folded up, the orange-juice pack she’d drunk, the box of chocolates she’d eaten, the pebbles she’d lined up. Yuichi sat down on the folded sleeping bag. He could feel the cold concrete below the plywood board.

While he was hiding in the thicket, snow that had accumulated on the leaves had fallen onto his neck. He’d shrugged his shoulders at the cold and the melted snow ran down his back. Mitsuyo was just buying a few things at the convenience store and should have been back a long time ago. Worried, he’d emerged from the bushes. Just before Yuichi came out on the main road, he spotted a policeman walking from the bus stop in his direction. Yuichi quickly hid behind a light pole. The policeman posted a notice of some kind on a bulletin board across the street, and started walking back toward the bus stop.

Yuichi waited, checking out the situation. He was just about to step out onto the main road when a patrol car, siren blasting, roared by. He hurriedly hid again behind the light pole.

He waited another five, then ten minutes, but no Mitsuyo. Maybe she’d noticed the patrol cars, too, and had taken the path, the one past the shrine, back to the lighthouse. Thrusting aside weeds as he went, Yuichi made his way up the hill. But no matter how long he waited at the lighthouse, Mitsuyo didn’t return.