"Incredible things happen in life," she says.

"You mean I might go back to where I started?"

"I don't know. That's up to you, sometime well in the future. But I think where a person is born and dies is very important. You can't choose where you're born, but where you die you can-to some degree." She says all this in a quiet voice, staring out the window like she's talking to some imaginary person outside. Remembering I'm here, she turns toward me. "I wonder why I'm confessing all these things to you."

"Because I'm not from around here, and our ages are so different."

"I suppose so," she says.

For twenty, maybe thirty seconds, we're lost in our own thoughts. She picks up her cup and takes another sip of coffee.

I decide to come right out and say it. "Miss Saeki, I have something I need to confess, too."

She looks at me and smiles. "We're exchanging secrets, I see."

"Mine isn't a secret. Just a theory."

"A theory?" she repeats. "You're confessing a theory?"

"Yes."

"Sounds interesting."

"It's a sequel to what we're talking about," I say. "What I mean is, did you come back to this town to die?"

Like a silvery moon at dawn, a smile rises to her lips. "Perhaps I did. But it doesn't seem to matter. Whether you come to a place to live or to die, the things you do every day are about the same."

"Are you hoping to die?"

"I wonder…," she says. "I don't know myself."

"My father was hoping to die."

"Your father died?"

"Not long ago," I tell her. "Very recently, in fact."

"Why was your father trying to die?"

I take a deep breath. "For a long time I couldn't figure it out. But now I think I have. After coming here I finally understand."

"Why?"

"My father was in love with you, but couldn't get you back. Or maybe from the very beginning he couldn't really make you his. He knew that, and that's why he wanted to die. And that's also why he wanted his son-your son, too-to murder him. Me, in other words. He wanted me to sleep with you and my older sister, too. That was his prophecy, his curse. He programmed all this inside me."

Miss Saeki returns her coffee cup to the saucer with a hard, neutral sound. She looks straight at me, but she's not really seeing me. She's gazing at some void, some blank space somewhere else. "Do I know your father?"

I shake my head. "As I told you, it's just a theory."

She rests her hands on the desk, one on top of the other. Faint traces of a smile remain. "In your theory, then, I'm your mother."

"That's right," I say. "You lived with my father, had me, and then went away, leaving me behind. In the summer when I'd just turned four."

"So that's your theory."

I nod.

"Which explains why you asked me yesterday whether I have any children?"

Again I nod.

"I told you I couldn't answer that. Couldn't give you a yes or a no."

"I know."

"So your theory remains speculative."

I nod again. "That's right."

"So tell me, how did your father die?"

"He was murdered."

"You didn't murder him, did you?"

"No, I didn't. I have an alibi."

"But you're not entirely sure?"

I shake my head. "I'm not sure at all."

She lifts the coffee cup again and takes a tiny sip, as if it has no taste. "Why did your father put you under that curse?"

"He must've wanted me to take over his will," I say.

"To desire me, you mean."

"That's right," I say.

Miss Saeki stares into the cup in her hand, then looks up again.

"So do you-desire me?"

I give one clear nod.

She closes her eyes. I gaze at her closed eyelids for a long time, and through them I can see the darkness that she's seeing. Odd shapes loom up in it, floating up only to disappear.

Finally she opens her eyes. "You mean in theory you desire me."

"No, apart from the theory. I want you, and that goes way beyond any theory."

"You want to have sex with me?"

I nod.

She narrows her eyes like something's shining in them. "Have you ever had sex with a girl before?"

I nod again. Last night-with you, I think. But I can't say it out loud. She doesn't remember a thing.

Something close to a sigh escapes her lips. "Kafka, I know you realize this, but you're fifteen and I'm over fifty."

"It's not that simple. We're not talking about that sort of time here. I know you when you were fifteen. And I'm in love with you at that age. Very much in love. And through her, I'm in love with you. That young girl's still inside you, asleep inside you. Once you go to sleep, though, she comes to life. I've seen it."

She closes her eyes once more, her eyelids trembling slightly.

"I'm in love with you, and that's what's important. I think you understand that."

Like someone rising to the surface of the sea from deep below, she takes a deep breath. She searches for the words to say, but they lie beyond her grasp. "I'm sorry, Kafka, but would you mind leaving? I'd like to be alone for a while," she says. "And close the door on your way out."

I nod, stand up, and start to go, but something pulls me back. I stop at the door, turn around, and walk across the room to where she is. I reach out and touch her hair. Through the strands my hand brushes her small ear. I just can't help it.

Miss Saeki looks up, surprised, and after a moment's hesitation lays her hand on mine. "At any rate, you-and your theory-are throwing a stone at a target that's very far away. Do you understand that?"

I nod. "I know. But metaphors can reduce the distance."

"We're not metaphors."

"I know," I say. "But metaphors help eliminate what separates you and me."

A faint smile comes to her as she looks up at me. "That's the oddest pickup line I've ever heard."

"There're a lot of odd things going on-but I feel like I'm slowly getting closer to the truth."

"Actually getting closer to a metaphorical truth? Or metaphorically getting closer to an actual truth? Or maybe they supplement each other?"

"Either way, I don't think I can stand the sadness I feel right now," I tell her.

"I feel the same way."

"So you did come back to this town to die."

She shakes her head. "To be honest about it, I'm not trying to die. I'm just waiting for death to come. Like sitting on a bench at the station, waiting for the train."

"And do you know when the train's going to arrive?"

She takes her hand away from mine and touches her eyelids with the tips of her fingers. "Kafka, I've worn away so much of my own life, worn myself away. At a certain point I should have stopped living, but didn't. I knew life was pointless, but I couldn't give up on it. So I ended up just marking time, wasting my life in pointless pursuits. I wound up hurting myself, and that made me hurt others around me. That's why I'm being punished now, why I'm under a kind of curse. I had something too complete, too perfect, once, and afterward all I could do was despise myself. That's the curse I can never escape. So I'm not afraid of death. And to answer your question-yes, I have a pretty good idea of when the time is coming."

Once more I take her hand in mine. The scales are shaking, and just a tiny weight would send them tipping to one side or the other. I have to think. I have to decide. I have to take a step forward. "Miss Saeki, would you sleep with me?" I ask.

"You mean even if I were your mother in that theory of yours?"

"It's like everything around me's in flux-like it all has a doubled meaning."

She ponders this. "That might not be true for me, though. For me, things might not be so nuanced. It might be more like all or nothing."

"And you know which it is."

She nods.

"Do you mind if I ask you a question?"

"About what?"

"Where did you come up with those two chords?"