The backs of closed gates. Three run past, away, out. Rushed children's feet, fast arms, turning heads. They yell, three! three!, I'm next, no, I don't want to! They laugh. Hot arms move faster. The heat detaches. Metal cart drags by, past children, past the corner. They say, I'm going next, me.
    A girl too big for the tricycle pedals fast, bent over. Stands on runningboard, his arms around her neck, this small boy who hangs on to her. Their red shirts two different reds. Dust beneath them pushed up, across.
    Shige holds her package, fans her face and neck. Walks quickly, slowly, stops, fans herself again. Switches package hand and fan hand, then switches back. Her arm lifts, falls, the fabric folding, unfolding.
    At the intersection, Chieko looks down at Shige's parcel.
    Together, moving their fans slowly through slow air.
    »Gravity comes down on you, you can feel it in your liver. I never knew I had a liver--unbelievable. But it doesn't affect everyone the same way. Look at you, Shige, practically unchanged.«
    »I had no idea this would happen. Very disheartening. Everything costs so much.«
    »When I saw Noriko, I could hardly believe it--so beautiful then, more beautiful than anyone.«
    »She was always playing up jealousy, one against the other. Not necessarily good for business.«
    »But Shige, you wouldn't've recognized her. She had to tell me who she was. I didn't believe her.«
    »I'm surprised she isn't taking better care of herself.«
    »She asked me for money.«
    »That's impossible. The head of that steel company alone must have given her billions.«
    »I never would've known her. Maybe she's sick.«
    »Even the most beautiful gets old. She was always taking my cigarettes.«
    »She asked for you so many times, wanted to know how you were. She remembered Koji's beautiful calligraphy.«
    »She must have a lot put by—probably just trying to make it last forever.«
    »You didn't see her.«
    »Everything's certainly changed—not at all what I'd expected.«
    »But you've got Koji. If I had any children life would be very different.«
    »Chieko—you were so scared that time, said it would ruin all your chances.«
    »To think I was so sure a rich man would marry me. If I had a child now it'd make all the difference. Koji was so wonderful when he was a boy, we all loved him.«
    »Noriko really can't have been that foolish.«

Smokestacks, one with white stripe. This roof, series of flat roofs (the sky between). Window, edges of smoke. Smoke lifted past striped stack. Bird's shadow.
    Inside corridor where above, clock shows 2:30, fast hand moving, 2:31, the hour steady, then slipping.
    Setsuko's neck, the sleeve of her red-orange dress. Her hand as it pushes. Another desk, another desk, more necks, more pushing hands. All their backs, their pushing, nodding. Setsuko turns to window where smoke lifts. Pushes again.
    As she stands opposite Minobe. He wipes his face, whose lines, flesh. His eyes downward.
    »A fine speech.«
    »Everyone thought so.«
    »Inspiring. They're well matched. She's sure to have excellent children, she's that type—robust loins.«
    His windows show smokestacks, a series of flat roofs, out to where blue sea-sky. Setsuko's red-orange dress away from that sea or sky.
    »It's not too late, you're not really very old, not in today's world.«
    »She seemed very happy. A good family.«
    Setsuko looks behind Minobe, the lifting smoke, his fleshy lines.
    »My wife had a very fine pelvis, but even she could only manage one extremely weak son.«
    »I'm expecting Osaka's call.«
    »Yes, the time. Afternoon's almost gone.«
    His hand on the desk. Clock numbers: 2:57 then 2:58. Smoke lifts past the tallest stack, away from this window.
    »Your father, he's still alive? The silent way he had of humiliating people, very effective.«
    »I'll tell him you remembered.«
    Looking downward. Behind him, smoke in a straight line. His hand reaching.

Almost running, these women whose shoes clap back against. These men in their similar suits, not talking. One woman stops, goes back toward the two men, past them, walking slowly now.
    If it's day or night—darker orange, a filtered blue-violet turns cloth black. Men and women, their shoulders, their arms, tied cloths. Now not-purple darkness, but changing still. Crowd hands disappear, crowd faces brighter. Reaches back, adjusts her obi. She lights a cigarette. He puts one hand in pocket. Laughs and rubs shaved head. He moves his briefcase to his left hand, touches his tie. She says I'm sorry. He nods. He walks faster. This tattoo shows through back of white shirt: bird, sword, a woman's face. His suit like other suits, yellow-and-white tie.
    Moving faster in the changed street. Siren, someone shouts, someone looks.     Bow and Arrow—red/yellow/blue. Bar Carton—letters fizzling. Moonbeam, Moon beam, beam.
    Kogo pours sake. He sits at the bar, Shukichi to his left. These brown bottles, green bottles, glasses, rust-colored bowl, white bowl.
    »Itakura—it's cold.«
    »Don't punish Itakura because you waited too long. It's unfair.«
    »I didn't wait.«
    »Very unfair. Life's unfair—ask anyone here.«
    »Can't limit an important survey to drinkers.«
    »Unfairness everywhere. Isn't that true?«
    »Yes, yes. I myself am a complete victim to irrational unfairness.«
    »Shukichi, you've got to stop verifying your bad generalizations with strangers.«
    »Keep waiting—it'll be cold again.«
    »Unfairness is the normal experience of everyone, a universal truth—that makes it practically fair.«
    »Is Keiko going to the reunion?«
    »I don't know—they're very busy right now.«
    »Setsuko will be disappointed.«
    »I say I'm a victim!«
    »Look what you've started.«
    Kogo pours sake. A woman sits next to him, orders a beer. Shukichi drinks, the victim drinks.
    Moon beam. Two women walk into dark. A man tries to read, puts paper scrap under red/yellow Bow and Arrow (off), he waits. Arms and shoulders. This narrow street.

Boxes of food, cloth-wrapped packages between heavy and small green trees. Visible heat between cloth, skin. The top of a tree, of other trees, the new city. Burnt-brown leaf. On the ground, genetically engineered pear, a hand, recordplayer, Hank Williams record.
    Ako, Koji—Setsuko across from them—they're on the ground, legs folded. Ako cuts slices from huge pear. Koji lies down.
    Brightness, green-staying trees, a sea-sky without clouds. Koji holds his cut piece of pear, Setsuko eating hers, Ako cuts.
    A brown duck, arrow-end in midback, swims in the pond. Other ducks stay away, other ducks come closer, water moving. Sagging waterlilies sink under duck feet, rise slowly. A little girl points at impaled duck, laughs and jumps. Duck swims, other ducks swim, dip heads into water.
    These three bicycles are red, red, bright purple (with yellow bell). All bicycles face the same way, leaning. Ako eats a pear slice, she holds the knife. Bugs everywhere.
    »Last night I dreamt we were all kids playing in the alley behind the old house and neither of you would listen to me. I started having a tantrum, then everything changed.«
    »No tantrum?«
    »Nothing. No. More pear.«
    Setsuko lays pear slices on Koji's forehead.
    »Very soothing.«
    »I thought I'd give you a tantrum.«
    »Put Jerry Lee Lewis on next.«
    »I'm going to the pond. Did you see the duck on tv?«
    »Ako—don't go yet.«
    Ako jumps up. Koji's down, pear in his hand and mouth, pear slice on his forehead. Setsuko's lax hands, eyes half-closed.
    Square aqua plastic box with riceballs inside. Waxwinged bird hopping, wings opening. Record-player stops.
    From this small rise, only seeing the top of Ako's head, Koji and Setsuko half-sitting, half-lying.
    Ako's hand, waving—Koji and Setsuko wave. Ako's hand disappears, top of her head disappears. Seablue corners of plastic box refracting light broken by their waving.
    They lie together on this small hill. Ako's missing. Their breaths, this heat, rapid-flying bugs. Under his pear canopy, Koji's closed eyes. Slices of huge pear, its core on the cloth where Ako, now gone.
    »In the dream it never occurred to me that we weren't still kids, I never questioned anything. The alley was so familiar and the way you used to have your hair with your bangs straight.«
    »I never dream about the past. I don't even know if I remember.«
    »Everything's the same as it was then.«
    »Koji—everything's changed.«
    »If we always stay here, breathing very slowly, watching the bugs, smelling the smell of pears.«
    »I was fascinated by leaves when I was young—now I have to close my eyes when I lean back.«
    »Someone shot that duck with an arrow. No one knows why.«
    »Maybe I should've gone with Ako.«
    »More pear.«
    »Should we put on another record?«
    »Yoshi was crazy about American music.«
    Duck paddles around pond, arrow-stick straight from his back. Woman next to Ako throws seeds into water—ducks stopping, their heads down and up.
    He's very brave, Ako says to her. Oblivious, the woman says, throws more seeds to gliding ducks. Impaled duck, as it bends, drinks water.
    A little boy shouts, look, a crane! White longnecked bird flies past. Heads stare up, across. Heat shines off the pond.

Three bicycles, their spokes, their feet in this circular up-and-down, Koji holding a piece of cutup pear. Setsuko, ringing this yellow bell, pushes metal tab. The white gray road. Sign says refreshing taste. Setsuko's bell fading-ringing between rings.

Light from outside. Front of bright purple bicycle, leaning. From corridor: bike, failing contrast at wall where that light—behind, shadows. Sound of water.
    Water speeds up, falling into falling silence. Setsuko's back, her hands up, holding a towel. Walks past.
    Shukichi says, are you done? Setsuko nods. Two walls, rising shadows.
    As he walks through that corridor, his slow steps. Darkness left for brightness. Water, the sound breaking.
    Arch of a branch, ragged leaves. Red teakettle, two white bowls. Her hands, arranging, quickly. Her hair tied behind.
    Setsuko and Shukichi sit at right angles.
    »It's calmed down a bit, till Minobe thinks up his next scheme.«
    »That buffoon, I'd never've predicted he'd end up as he has.«
    »The perfect company man.«
    »I've got Matsuda coming later, so when you get home.«
    »—«
    »I don't know if I'll finish that translation on time.«
    »I'm going to miss my train.«
    »Plenty of goodlooking fellows on that platform every day. Not just in the morning.«
    »One failure's enough. It's late.«
    »If you stop at the bakery.«
    »I'll remember.«
    Hand on bike seat as she turns. Light still rising, brighter as door opens.
    From the corridor, Shukichi's back, his arm lifting. Slower—he stands, his arms down, holds his cup. Red teakettle, edge of white dish. His side as he takes her cup, the bowls. Without him, the empty table.
    Inside this train where Setsuko sits, newspaper folded in her lap. Man beside her studying words and numbers. Windows behind their heads. Woman to Setsuko's left looks at her watch. Setsuko and the man standing in front of her look at this woman's watch. Behind them, unseen neighborhoods, train platforms, power lines (sagging, straightening), a white sheet, damp white shirts, advertisements, permanently happy western faces. Setsuko looks at words at top of her folded paper, looks at the watch of woman next to her. The train stops, starts again with more people.
    At his low desk, papers on both sides—English (left), Japanese (right)—Shukichi reads, hums, writes.
    So many people get off the same train, pushing, moving away. The woman, the man next to her, gone. Setsuko's hands on her arms, she stands, then moves with them, heat already fixed through the light.