"At any rate," Ogi said, "I think he's done a good job by focusing on the question of why now, after Aum, Patron is starting again."

"I talked afterward with the reporter who wrote this article," Dancer said.

"But there's not a single line about what Patron said about the antichrist,"

Ikuo said.

"I made very sure he didn't add that," Dancer retorted. "As I spoke with the reporter on my cell phone, Patron was right beside me and he didn't ad- monish me at all."

"But that was the most interesting part of the whole sermon," Ikuo insisted.

"We have to make sure Patron doesn't have the rug pulled out from under him by the media, don't we? I want to avoid having them use a word like antichrist."

This said, Dancer drained her glass of beer and poured herself another.

Their order ofgyoza rice came just at that moment and she tucked into it with relish. Before the three of them were half finished, she got up and went over to the counter to order a late-night snack to take home for Patron. But when she returned to their table her spirits were dampened.

"The cook asked me if only one order of noodles and vegetables was enough. Because we always got two orders, one for Patron and one for Guide.

Even though it was in all the papers, he still didn't realize that Guide was murdered. And it was for people like him that Guide died!"

Dancer didn't even try to keep her voice down.

5

It was late at night by the time they got back to the office. Dancer checked to see that Patron was still up, and while she was reheating the food she'd brought back-taking care of his stomach before giving him his sleeping pills-Ogi printed out the e-mails they'd received. Ikuo read through them too. Ms. Tachibana wanted Ikuo, more than anyone else, to read the e-mail from her. It said: I think my brother was hurt by what happened at the press conference. We get these comments a lot, where people casually say that something he composed is like somebody else's-they're meant as praise for people with mental handicaps, but he finds them hard to comprehend. For him music just wells up naturally in him, like a birdcall, the sound oí the wind, or a heartbeat.

These days he doesn't like letting other people listen to his music. The reason I urged him to play his tape, which he had a pianist record, was because of how important that piece is to both of us.

Ever since we went to that small gathering with Patron so long ago when he spoke with such caring words about my brother, Patron's been one of the main topics of conversation between us. My brother's vocabulary is poor, but his grammar is correct and if you listen carefully you realize what he's saying makes a lot of sense.

Once, actually more like a memory coming back to me, I suddenly told Morio about one of his compositions, "Morio, it's like we're going into heaven, with Patron leading us by the hand." And my brother said, very emphatically, "That's right!" This was the piece that, even though Patron couldn't join us, Morio was so excited about letting you all hear-only to be rewarded with those snide comments by the reporter.

Ikuo, when you asked, on my brother's behalf, which pieces of Bach or Mozart the reporter meant exactly, you can't imagine how tense my brother was! My own heart was beating a mile a minute. And that cowardly reporter couldn't say a thing.

Because of what you did, though, for the first time in our lives our honor has been redeemed. What's more, Morio really enjoyed the style in which you play. He can't put it into words, but he likes a powerful performance that doesn't have room for anything vague. More than anything else he dislikes playing that pussyfoots around. After we got home my brother was gazing for the longest time at his handwritten manuscript of that piece.

Speaking for both of us, we couldn't be happier that you're working to help Patron. Hallelujah, hallelujah!

Along with the e-mail came a fax of five handwritten compositions by Morio, each of them a page or two in length. Written in light pencil, the notes looking like a series of bean sprouts that were hard to decipher in places, and written over here and there in pen, the whole thing apparently had been checked by Ms. Tachibana. My brother really enjoyed your playing, so he's send- ing over some other of his compositions, she noted.

Ikuo carefully studied the sheets of music. "All three times I couldn't catch it and just played that section in my own way, as anyone who's studied music might. For Morio, of course, I wasn't getting it. He was kind enough to overlook that, but that's why he sent me the sheet music. All the pieces take off from that one piece, and if you study them together you can see there is a clear, connecting structure to them. Ms. Tachibana may think the music just seems to well up in him naturally, but in each successive piece the theme is developed in a carefully structured way."

Dancer had returned to the office and read the e-mail Ikuo had received, but just stood there without a word, her mouth slightly open, gazing off into space. What concerned her most among the messages was an e-mail from the person who had run the church after Patron and Guide stopped. He was an executive at one of the largest construction firms in the Kansai region, and though the headquarters didn't send a group delegation to the memorial ser- vice he wrote that he was quite moved by what he heard by phone from mem- bers who had attended individually.

His e-mail soon moved on to more practical matters, saying that, though he didn't know the direction Patron's newly founded movement would take, he assumed it would be based on a communal lifestyle. Perhaps, he suggested, the church could make use of some buildings in the woods of Shikoku that the Kansai headquarters owned. He added that he would be in Tokyo soon on business and could discuss it with Patron or, if that was out of the question, with members of his staff. All the Kansai people-who helped obtain the buildings, participated in refurbishing them, and were even now taking care of them-were hoping that Patron and Guide would rise again and make use of the facilities. We pray that our dream will become a reality, he wrote. Once more, let me express my deepest condolences on the passing of Guide.

Their schedule for this very long day was now over, and Dancer, whose bed was in the small room diagonally across the hall from Patron's-Ogi slept beside the entrance, Ikuo on the second floor of the annex-suggested that, since the studio was soundproof, Ikuo might like to try playing Ms. Tachibana's brother's compositions on Guide's piano. Up till now Dancer had only shown an interest in the next morning's newspaper articles and the e-mail from the church headquarters, and Ogi was surprised by her sugges- tion. Ikuo, too, seemed unsure if she was serious or not.

But Dancer, straightening up the documents on the desk, along with the PC and other devices on it, turned to Ikuo, who hadn't said anything and was about to leave, and repeated her offer, then went on to say, "When I met you when you were a child, I already felt there was something special about you. That model you made and were so gingerly carrying when it got caught in me-you didn't know what to do. Those eyes that glared back at me weren't the eyes of an ordinary child. A long time later the word came to me to de- scribe what they looked like, and I thought: This was a person who expresses dreadful things. Even so, meeting you fifteen years later, I'm disappointed to find you aren't trying to express anything now. That's why, now that I've learned you play the piano, I want to hear you."

After she said this, Ikuo didn't hesitate. He took out Morio's music, which he'd put on a bookshelf, and stood up, grasping it in his huge hand.

He strode off outside along the path that, despite the streetlight in the stand of trees, was dark, with Dancer walking in his footsteps as if leaping from one stepping-stone to the next. Following at some distance, Ogi felt as if he were viewing a ballet: a sprite dancing in the shadow of some giant beast.