The two of them gave up, left the library, and went to a nearby diner for dinner. They both had noodles topped with tempura, Hoshino ordering an extra bowl of noodles and broth.

"I enjoyed the library," Nakata said. "I had no idea there were so many kinds of cats in the world."

"The stone thing didn't pan out, but that's all right," Hoshino told him. "We just got started. Let's get a good night's sleep and see what tomorrow brings."

The next morning they went back to the library. Like the day before, Hoshino read through a huge stack of books, one after the other. He'd never read so many books in his life. By now he was fairly conversant with the history of Shikoku, and he'd learned that people had worshipped different kinds of stones for centuries. But what he really wanted-a description of this entrance stone-was nowhere to be found. By afternoon his head was starting to ache, so they left the library, laid down on the grass in a park for a long while, and gazed at the clouds drifting by. Hoshino smoked, Nakata sipped at hot tea from his thermos.

"It's going to thunder again tomorrow," Nakata said.

"Meaning you're going to make it thunder?"

"No, Nakata can't do that. The thunder comes by itself."

"Thank God for that," Hoshino said.

They went back to their inn, took a bath, and then Nakata went to bed and was soon fast asleep. Hoshino watched a baseball game on TV with the sound down low, but since the Giants were soundly beating Hiroshima he got disgusted with the whole thing and turned it off. He wasn't sleepy yet and felt thirsty, so he went out and found a beer hall, and ordered a draft and a plate of onion rings. He was thinking of striking up a conversation with a young girl sitting nearby, but figured it wasn't the time or place to make a pass. Tomorrow morning, after all, it was back to searching for the elusive stone.

He finished his beer, pulled on his Chunichi Dragons cap, left, and just wandered around. Not the most appealing-looking city, he decided, but it felt pretty good to be walking around wherever he wanted in a place he'd never been before. He always enjoyed walking, anyway. A Marlboro between his lips, hands stuck in his pockets, he wandered from one main street to another and down various alleys. When he wasn't smoking he whistled. Some parts were lively and crowded, others deserted and deathly quiet. No matter where he found himself, he kept up the same pace. He was young, healthy, carefree, with nothing to fear.

He was walking down a narrow alley full of karaoke bars and clubs that looked like they'd be operating under different names in six months, and had just come to a dark, deserted spot when somebody called out behind him, "Hoshino! Hoshino!" in a loud voice.

At first he couldn't believe it. Nobody knew him in Takamatsu-it had to be some other Hoshino. It wasn't that common a name, but not that uncommon, either. He didn't turn around and kept walking. But whoever it was followed him, calling out his name.

Hoshino finally stopped and turned around. Standing there was a short old man in a white suit. White hair, a serious pair of glasses, a white mustache and goatee, white shirt, and string tie. His face looked Japanese, but the whole outfit made him look more like some country gentleman from the American South. He wasn't much over five feet tall but looked less like a short person than a miniature, scaled-down version of a man. He held both hands out in front of him like he was carrying a tray.

"Mr. Hoshino," the old man said, his voice clear and piercing, with a bit of an accent.

Hoshino stared at the man in blank amazement.

"Right you are! I'm Colonel Sanders."

"You look just like him," Hoshino said, impressed.

"I don't just look like Colonel Sanders. It's who I am."

"The fried-chicken guy?"

The old man nodded heavily. "One and the same."

"Okay, but how do you know my name?"

"Chunichi Dragons fans I always call Hoshino. Nagashima's your basic Giants name-likewise, for the Dragons it's got to be Hoshino, right?"

"Yeah, but Hoshino happens to be my real name."

"Pure coincidence," the old man boomed out. "Don't blame me."

"So what do you want?"

"Have I got a girl for you!"

"Oh, I get it," Hoshino said. "You're a pimp. That's why you're dolled up like that."

"Mr. Hoshino, I don't know how many times I have to say this, but I'm not dressed up as anybody. I am Colonel Sanders. Don't get mixed up here, all right?"

"Okay… But if you're the real Colonel Sanders, what the heck are you doing working as a pimp in a back alley in Takamatsu? You're famous, and must be raking in the dough from license fees alone. You should be kicking back at a poolside somewhere in the States, enjoying your retirement. So what's the story?"

"There's a kind of a warp at work in the world."

"A warp?"

"You probably don't know this, but that's how we have three dimensions. Because of the warp. If you want everything to be nice and straight all the time, then go live in a world made with a triangular ruler."

"You're pretty weird, you know that?" Hoshino said. "But hanging out with weird old guys seems to be my fate these days. Any more of this and I won't know up from down."

"That may be, Mr. Hoshino, but how about it? How about a nice girl?"

"You mean like one of those massage parlor places?"

"Massage parlor? What's that?"

"You know, those places where they won't let you do the dirty deed but can manage a BJ or a hand job. Let you come that way, but no in-and-out."

"No, no," Colonel Sanders said, shaking his head in irritation. "That's not it at all. My girls do it all-hand job, BJ, whatever you want, including the old in-and-out."

"Ah hah-so you're talking a soapland."

"What land?"

"Quit kidding around, okay? I've got somebody with me, and we've got an early start in the morning. So I don't have time for any fooling around tonight."

"So you don't want a girl?"

"No girl. No fried chicken. I'm going back to get some sleep."

"But maybe you won't get to sleep that easily?" Colonel Sanders said knowingly. "When a person's looking for something and can't find it, they usually can't sleep very well."

Hoshino stood there, mouth agape, staring at him. "Looking for something? How'd you know I'm looking for something?"

"It's written all over your face. By nature you're an honest person. Everything you're thinking is written all over your face. It's like one side of a split-open dried mackerel-everything inside your head's laid out for all to see."

Instinctively, Hoshino reached up and rubbed his cheek. He spread his hand open and stared at it, but there was nothing there. Written all over my face?

"So," Colonel Sanders said, one finger held up for emphasis. "Is what you're looking for by any chance round and hard?"

Hoshino frowned and said, "Come on, old man, who are you? How could you know that?"

"I told you-it's written all over your face. You don't get it, do you?" Colonel Sanders said, shaking his finger. "I haven't been in this business all these years for my health, you know. So you really don't want a girl?"

"I'm looking for a kind of stone. It's called an entrance stone."

"I know all about it."

"You do?"

"I don't lie. Or tell jokes. I'm a straight-ahead, no-nonsense type of guy."

"Do you know where the stone is?"

"I know exactly where it is."

"So, could you-tell me where?"

Colonel Sanders touched his black-framed glasses and cleared his throat. "Are you sure you don't want a girl?"

"If you'll tell me where the stone is, I'll think about it," Hoshino said dubiously.

"Great. Come with me." Without waiting for a reply, he walked briskly away down the alley.

Hoshino scrambled to keep up. "Hey, old man. Colonel. I've only got about two hundred bucks on me."