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Sadako's dancing certainly worked for Toyama, but it didn't seem to satisfy Sadako herself.

Once, during a break, Toyama went to the bathroom.

He ran into Sadako next to the communal sink, and he took the opportunity to praise her dancing. "You're pretty good," he said. But she seemed to think he was being sarcastic, and she fixed him with a powerful glare.

"You don't have to use that kind of tone. I'll practice—I'll get better, and then I'll show you."

No doubt the older actresses had been needling her about her dance skills. As a result, she was unable to hear the sincerity in his praise, and so she'd excused herself as an amateur and gotten surly about it to boot.

She turned on her heel to leave. Toyama hurried after her. "I didn't mean it like that at all!"

He placed a hand on her shoulder, but she shook him off, saying, "Look, even I know I'm not any good, okay?"

"Well, I think you are. Please believe me. I'm not being sarcastic or anything: I really think you're good. I was just trying to boost your confidence a little..."

"You're lying."

"I'm not! Look, I'm not the kind of guy to beat around the bush like that. If I thought you were a bad dancer, I'd tell you, honestly."

They stared at each other. Toyama tried to make his pure intentions felt in his gaze.

Maybe it worked. She didn't look entirely convinced, but she managed an awkward smile, nodded, and whispered, "Okay. Thanks."

That was the first time he'd felt a real emotional connection with Sadako.

From then on he tried to give her advice whenever he could, both in secret and openly. If he noticed something while watching her practice, he'd tell her, purely as an objective bystander. He was tireless in his efforts to help her improve as an actress.

Toyama was the kind of guy girls liked, and as Sadako saw the feelings he had for her, she began to open up toward him. She stood out, and as a result she was always having to put up with backbiting and slander from older members of the troupe, vicious rumors and the like. With all that, she was understandably grateful for Toyama's affection.

The interns took turns cleaning the rehearsal space in pairs. One day in September Toyama was paired with Sadako, and they happened to show up at the same time.

It was early afternoon, and the space was deserted except for the two of them; they still had well over an hour to themselves before rehearsal was to start.

They saw to the cleaning, including the bathroom, and then Toyama sat down at the piano in the corner of the rehearsal space. It was a broken-down old upright, and several of its strings were out of tune. He contrived to avoid those notes as he set about playing Sadako a few tunes of his own devising.

Sadako stood beside him listening in silence at first, but then she sat down on the bench and let her fingers wander over the keyboard. Not quite a duet, but she did manage to follow along.

She'd never had formal lessons, she told him, but there was one tune she'd learned to play well enough just by watching. It was a mournful melody. Toyama had heard it before, but he couldn't remember what it was called. He stood up as if pushed off the bench; now it was his turn to listen from behind while Sadako played.

Her left hand played the chords with some hesitation, while her right picked out the melody. Her playing wasn't very good, but there was something about it that tugged at Toyama. Not only did she have what it took to shine as an actress, but now it seemed she had a flair for music as well.

He was unable to resist the urge when it came over him. He stared at the white nape of her neck, covered by her long hair; he watched as she lifted her right hand to brush away her bangs and then lowered it again to the keys with a supple movement. Everything about her, everything she did, mingled girlishness and womanli-ness, and he found it inexpressibly attractive.

Toyama had overheard more than one older member of the troupe describe Sadako as "that creepy girl." The only way Toyama could make sense of it was to figure that Sadako's preternatural beauty struck them—particularly the women—as eerie.

There was no resisting the strength of his feelings toward her, so he gave himself over to them. He hadn't planned on making a pass at her. It was just that his love could no longer be contained.

He moved quite naturally. "Sadako," he said, and embraced her from behind, intending to bring his face close to hers as she gazed down at the keys. But it was as if she had eyes in the back of her head. Sensing his movements, she stood up and caught him in a full-on embrace. He'd been apprehensive, of course, about how he'd be received, afraid of rejection and all the awkwardness and humiliation it would bring. He hadn't dared hope for this kind of acceptance. He'd miscalculated—but in the best possible way.

Toyama was twenty-three, and he'd known his share of women, but never had he experienced greater pleasure than he knew in that hug there in front of the piano. They stood there for a time, cheek-to-cheek, and then they pulled back gently so their lips could find each other. Anyone who happened to be present would have seen something fresh and pure, not lascivious, in their embrace.

Between kisses, they had whispered to each other:

"I've loved you since the moment we first met,"

Toyama had told her.

And Sadako had responded in kind. "I love you,"

she'd said.

So what was the meaning of what he saw now?

Toyama stamped his feet on the spiral staircase and gnashed his teeth. He wanted to rush in and pull Shigemori off her. Every time their faces disappeared into the corner he was tormented by a vision of them kissing. But Shigemori, forty-seven this year, was in the prime of his career as an impresario and playwright—a respected name in the theater world. If Toyama made the wrong move things could go badly not just for him but for Sadako as well. He felt as if his chest were being ripped open, but he told himself he'd just have to endure it for now.

As he grew used to the sight of them and began to calm down a bit, Toyama noticed something strange about Shigemori's expression. He always had an intensity in his gaze when he watched Sadako rehearse, but now he looked like a man possessed. "Possessed": that was the only word for it. He was no longer himself. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes bloodshot, his breathing ragged. From time to time he pressed a hand to his chest.

Watching all this, Toyama started to hope again. It began to appear that Shigemori was making a pass at her, but that Sadako was subtly deflecting his advances. Perhaps she wasn't making herself a liar after all.

Just then, however, she did something unbelievable.

Toyama saw her lean out from the shelter of the corner and press her lips to Shigemori's.

Shigemori pulled back, as if startled, and stared at her wide-eyed. It seemed that Sadako had done something Shigemori had neither expected nor desired.

Toyama knew that his own expression of astonishment must match Shigemori's. His own eyes were wide as he watched Sadako from behind.

But she didn't stop there. She pulled back a little, and then reached her left hand out toward Shigemori's crotch while Shigemori watched in surprise. She brought her palm up next to where his testicles must be and pretended to cup them from beneath. Then she actually squeezed them two or three times, as if playing with rubber balls.

Shigemori pulled back, his face clouded over with confusion; he grimaced, as if about to burst into tears...

Shigemori began to collapse—fainting? He staggered and leaned back against the wall, chest heaving, one hand pressed to his chest and the other rubbing his neck.

What's going on?

Just a moment ago Toyama had hated Shigemori, but now he found himself sympathizing with the man.