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It is 3:25am in Eri Asai’s room, and the Man with No Face is gone. Eri remains motionless on the television screen. The narrative camera cannot look away, as though something might happen.
A tremor so slight it may be a “visual hallucination aroused by our desire to see some kind of change” passes the corner of Eri’s mouth (130). The camera zooms in, and it happens again.
The narrative camera examines the room on the television. Becoming a “conceptual point of view devoid of flesh,” it passes through the screen (131). The real world crumbles away, and the one depicted on the screen takes its place. The room smells stale and slightly moldy, like it has been disused for a long time. The camera moves closer to Eri, unable to do anything but observe. Eri slowly struggles awake. Eventually, she opens her eyes and covers them against the glare of the fluorescent lights of the room where the Man with No Face had been.
Eventually, Eri sits up, trying to figure out where she is. She recognizes her bed, but she is unable to piece together how and when she entered this unfamiliar room. She recognizes that she must have been asleep a long time. She crosses the room unsteadily and reaches a window, but “[b]eyond the glass […] there is no scenery, only an uncolored space, like a pure abstract idea” (136). None of the windows or doors open, none of the light switches do anything, and the room is completely silent. Eri pounds on the door, but her fists produce little sound. She feels dizzy.
The room looks like Shirakawa’s office, though it is stripped of furniture. Eri finds a pencil on the floor stamped with the word “VERITECH.” She does not recognize the word.
Eri wonders if she is dead or dreaming, but she dismisses both notions. The rocking sensation worsens. Eri feels something inside her being stripped away, and something tells her “she will end up as a mere convenient conduit used for the passage of external things” (140). She begins to panic. Eri has the sense that she could return to her world through sleep, but sleep is impossible: She slept so deep she left her world.
The camera’s perspective is pulled away from Eri, back to the other side of the television screen, which has erupted in static. The static fades, and the room falls dark.
It is 3:42am. Mari and Takahashi sit together at the otherwise deserted park. Mari feeds a white kitten. Takahashi explains that when he worked at the Alphaville, he used to come to the park to spend time with the cats on his breaks. He grew up with cats and misses them. Mari was never allowed to have a cat because Eri was highly allergic to them, among many other things.
Takahashi tells Mari he had one very deep conversation with Eri back in April. Mari is surprised Eri opened up to Takahashi. Takahashi does not know why she did, but he tells Mari that people often open up to him. He wonders if it is because people often think he is gay, and that perhaps Eri found him unthreatening.
Eri told him a number of personal secrets, one of which was that she wished she and Mari were closer; she felt that Mari had put up a barrier between them. Mari is surprised. Takahashi recalls Eri taking numerous pills throughout the conversation. Mari confirms this, saying, “Pills, fortune-telling, and dieting: nobody can stop her when it comes to any of those things” (149). Throughout their talk, Eri made Takahashi feel like he could have been anyone, like he was just her sounding board. Takahashi realized that Eri was not absorbing anything he said, like there was some sort of spongey barrier between them. Mari tells Takahashi that this is exactly how she has felt with Eri for the past few years.
Mari asks Takahashi if the girl he took to Alphaville was Eri; Takahashi assures her that it was not. Mari says that she does not care either way, so long as it was what Eri wanted. Takahashi responds that even Eri probably has no grasp of what she wants.
Mari tells Takahashi that she wanted to be closer to Eri in her early teenage years, but that was when Eri was busiest with her modeling career. Though they grew up in the same house, it was as though they lived in two different worlds. Given this, Mari does not know what to do with the fact that Eri wishes they were closer. Takahashi suggests that Eri had a complex about Mari, not the other way around. He thinks Eri was not able to form as clear of a sense of self as Mari. Mari rejects this idea; she does not have a clear sense of herself, either.
Takahashi tells Mari that she is probably a late-bloomer still in a “preparatory stage.” Mari remarks that Guo Dongli is also 19, and there was no room for her to be in a preparatory stage. She felt an immediate want to be friends with Guo, something she had never experienced before. She feels as though Guo is a part of her now.
Takahashi wants Mari to consider the idea that Eri might be suffering violence similar to what Guo experienced, and that she is lashing out, harming herself, because she is unable to express her pain. Mari tells Takahashi that Eri is in a deep sleep and does not want to wake up.
At 3:58am, Shirakawa does exercises, shirtless, on a yoga mat in his office in time to a Scarlatti cantata. It is part of his daily routine. When he is finished, he cleans up and inspects his right hand, which does not show much damage but which still hurts. He dresses and stares at himself intently in the bathroom mirror, as though expecting something else to emerge from it. Shirakawa leaves, but his reflection remains, motionless, until it rolls its neck and touches its face in the now dark bathroom.
Back at his desk, Shirakawa twirls the same silver “VERITECH” pencil that Eri found on the floor. He opens a bag containing the clothes and belongings he stole from Guo. Some of the clothes, including the undergarments, are stained black with blood. He empties her purse and takes back the 3,000 Yen he paid her. He listens to each of the messages on her cheap burner phone, all from the same man and all in Chinese, so he does not understand them. He crumples all of Guo’s belongings into a garbage bag, except for the cell phone, which he pockets, and calls a cab.
The cab driver recognizes Shirakawa; he has taken him home this late before. He comments that it must be rough to always work this late. Shirakawa blames it on the recession. He asks the cab driver to make a detour to a 7-Eleven so he can throw away his garbage and pick up the milk his wife requested.
At 7-Eleven, Shirakawa adds the garbage bag containing Guo’s possessions to the pile by the dumpster. It is indistinguishable from the other bags and will be picked up in the morning. He places Guo’s cell phone next to the cheese in the dairy section in the store. He purchases milk and a container of yogurt.
Back in the cab, he tells the driver to wake him when they get near his house. He pretends to sleep rather than make small talk. Some time later, at a red light, the man on the black motorcycle pulls up next to them, though he is oblivious to Shirakawa’s presence.
It is 4:09am. Takahashi does not know what to make of Mari saying that Eri does not want to wake up. Mari wants to go to the Alphaville, and Takahashi volunteers to walk with her before he gets back to practice—likely his last ever all-night band practice.
The city is dead at this time of night. Trash litters the streets, yet to be picked up by sanitation workers. Takahashi asks why Mari is wearing a Boston Red Sox hat. Mari, who does not follow baseball, replies that someone gave it to her. Takahashi tries to ask Mari what she meant about Eri not wanting to wake up, but Mari does not want to talk about it. She asks Takahashi to tell her more about himself. He warns her that he can only think of dark things at the moment.
Takahashi’s mother died from breast cancer when he was 7. His father was in prison for fraud. Takahashi was left alone, tended to by estranged aunts and neighbors. Takahashi mostly fended for himself until his father returned. He was relieved to have him back, but his father felt like a stranger thereafter. He tells Mari she is lucky she never had to deal with that. Takahashi’s father never went back to prison, though he continued to work in a legal gray area. Takahashi’s childhood was a series of extreme financial ups and downs. He changed schools frequently and was never able to make friends. Takahashi’s father eventually settled down. He reliably pays Takahashi’s tuition and even sends him spending money from time to time.
Mari asks about Takahashi’s stepmother. He says she never had a child of her own, so she raised Takahashi as if he were her own son. Takahashi is grateful, but the feeling of being an orphan never left him.
They reach Alphaville. Takahashi looks at Mari seriously and jokes, “I’m thinking exactly the same thing you are. But today’s no good. I’m not wearing clean underwear” (181). Mari looks at him, disgusted, and tells him not to make such jokes. Takahashi tells her he will come back at 6am and take her to a restaurant nearby that makes good omelets. He waves goodbye, and Mari enters the love hotel.
At 4:25am, Eri presses her hands to the screen of the television. Her actions seem uncoordinated, as though she is not fully able to shake off the effects of sleeping for so long. She mouths words, but they are sluggish and incoherent; nothing can be discerned from “our side” of the screen. Eri can evidently see her room, but she cannot break through.
Eri’s image on the screen begins to break up. The narrator forgets its self-imposed neutrality and shouts for Eri to run, but the voice does not reach her. Eri is aware of the danger, that “the meaning of her physical self is eroding” (186). She runs out of frame, and the television screen goes black.
The clock in Shirakawa’s kitchen reads 4:31am. Shirakawa sits eating yogurt directly from the container, watching a program about deep-sea creatures and contemplating the relationship between thought and action.
In the third section of After Dark, it becomes clear that the relationship between Mari and Eri is the novel’s central conflict. Takahashi reveals that he once had a long and deeply personal conversation with Eri, which shocks Mari: Even though they are sisters, Eri never opened up to her about anything personal, and the two grew up in separate, albeit parallel, worlds. Takahashi’s description of the conversation demonstrates the atmosphere of isolation that surrounds Eri. Eri’s inability to listen to others is not, as it would appear, an indication of self-centeredness, but rather the outward, social manifestation of her lack of self-identity.
These chapters are heavily focused on Eri’s story, and two of them revolve around Eri herself, bringing forth the theme of Voyeurism and the Narrative Camera once more. The camera draws the reader into the scene, zooming in on different features and panning around the room. Chapter 12 is the only time Eri’s thoughts are conveyed to the reader, when she briefly wakes up and tries to escape from the room on the television screen. Cut off from the flow of reality, she thinks, “I’m a lump of flesh, a commercial asset” (139). Mari describes how Eri’s career cut them off from each other: “I wanted to be best friends with her […] But she was already insanely busy even then […] She just didn’t have any openings for me” (154). Where Mari suffered for lack of an older sister, Eri suffered from being objectified: Her career made her a spectacle, a commodity for other people to consume, rather than a person in her own right. Even the narrative camera takes advantage of this fact, well aware that it is voyeuristically intruding upon her in a time when she wants to be isolated the most.
In Chapter 14, the narrator—still using collective pronouns like “we” and “our”—breaks its own rules and shifts from voyeur to participant, attempting to interfere with Eri’s situation. Instead of choosing to stay neutral, the narrator is forced to stay neutral; this is symbolic of filmgoers or readers, who are incapable of affecting the characters within a story. “We” cannot help Eri; however, Eri’s ability to sense the danger and help herself indicates her steadily growing awareness, and thus her impending return to true consciousness.
The fact that Eri “wakes” just as Mari and Takahashi are discussing their connections to her symbolizes that Eri’s sleep is a product of her disconnect. It also showcases the theme of Synchronicity, which recurs in other ways. First is the link between Shirakawa and the Man with No Face. Though the man’s identity is never revealed, the Veritech pencil provides a concrete correlation between the two characters. This is bolstered by the malevolence that encroaches on Eri after the Man with No Face vanishes; Shirakawa’s violent tendencies are already a proven fact. The other instances of synchronicity in this section also revolve around Shirakawa: First, his reflection lingers after he leaves his office’s bathroom, reminiscent of Mari’s reflection doing the same in Chapter 5. Second, Shirakawa passes by the man on the motorcycle—the very man who is out searching for him, seeking revenge for what he did to Guo. However, like Mari and Takahashi in Chapter 9, the two men don’t notice each other.
Lastly, the concept of The Individual and the Collective reappears in smaller ways. These primarily occur during Mari’s conversation with Takahashi at the park; about Eri and, briefly, about Guo. Takahashi and Mari both agree that, before Eri went into her deep sleep, it was nearly impossible to connect with her. Takahashi says that although Eri shared her personal thoughts and feelings with him, conversing with her made him lose his sense of self—like Eri didn’t care about talking to him so much as talking to anyone. He suggests that it is Eri, not Mari, who does not know who she is; this idea is reflected in the Eri-centric chapters. At this point, Mari is still focused on her own lack of identity, and disagrees. However, she is slowly opening up to the idea of connecting with her sister—of connecting with others in general. Although her encounter with Guo was brief, Mari felt a strong bond with her; she acknowledges that they inhabit the different worlds of light and dark Tokyo, but she feels as though Guo has become a part of her. This demonstrates how each individual is a collective within their own right: a collection of meaningful connections and experiences, all of which intertwine to form society—the collective—at large.
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By Haruki Murakami