Junko celevision rings of ric guitar. icing a fast passage and obviously he receiver.

    “Did I wake you?” Miyake asked in .

    “Naill up.”

    “I’m at time. Can you come down?”

    “Sure,” Junko said. “Let me cen minutes.”

    Sigop surtleneck ser, and suffed a pack of cigarettes into t of . Purse, matc. ore off his headphones.

    “I’m going for a bonfire on the beach,” she said.

    “Miyake again?” Keisuke asked  to be kidding. It’s February, you kno nigo go make a bonfire now?”

    “t’s okay, you don’t o come. I’ll go by myself.”

    Keisuke sige to change.”

    urned off  on pants, a ser, and a do, ted .

    “You guys are crazy,” Keisuke said as took to t’s so great about bonfires?”

    t  t all. ords left to hang frozen in midair.

    “’s so great about Pearl Jam?” Junko said. “Just a lot of noise.”

    “Pearl Jam en million fans all over the world,” Keisuke said.

    “ell, bonfires y thousand years,” Junko said.

    “You’ve got somethere,” Keisuke said.

    “People will be liger Pearl Jam is gone.”

    “You’ve got sometoo.” Keisuke pulled   of  and put rouble is, I don’t o do y ty t’s important is noure? t matters is omac no it up rig?”

    teps to top of ter. Miyake ing drift to drag to t.

    t of transformed to a ser rangely he beach.

    “Pretty good, e breath.

    “Incredible!” Junko said.

    “t stormy day ely, I can tell from today some great fireo wash up.’ ”

    “Okay, okay, ’s get ’s so damn cold, it’s enougo shrivel your balls.”

    “ake it easy. t o do t you’ve got to plan it. And  all arranged so it’ll  a c it slo rus. ‘tient beggar earns his keep.’ ”

    “Yeaient hooker earns her keep.”

    Miyake soo young to be making sucime,” he said.

    Miyake erlacing til o resemble some kind of avant-garde sculpture. Stepping back a feructed, adjust some of to ting times. As al to begin al images of tlest movement of tor can imagine tone.

    Miyake took ime, but once o isfaction, o say to ’s it: perfect. Next, s of ne  along, slipped t ttom of t tic cigarette ligook tes from , put one in ruck a matcared at Miyake’s : t-stopping moment of tc erupt in giant flames?

    tared in silence at tain of drifts of ne, t out. After t t didn’t  Junko. t ter t looked.

    Se smoke s up from to disperse it, traigo  fire someill there was no sign of flames.

    No one said a alkative Keisuke kept  tig pockets. Miyake , cigarette in  occasionally, as if suddenly recalling t it here.

    As usual, Junko t about Jack London’s “to Build a Fire.” It ory of a man traveling alone terior and tempts to ligo deat catc read mucion, but t one s story seac as an essay topic during tion of  year in ory o mind as s as  important of all, t t tally longing for deat for sure. S explain  s from tart. Deat ed.  it  ending for  o go on fig. o fig an over sed contradiction.

    teac ed? t’s a nerange! Quite ‘original,’ I’d o say.” he class, and everybody laughed.

    But Junko kneory be so quiet and beautiful?

    “Uured, “don’t you t?”

    “Don’t ’s caug’s just getting ready to flare up. See ’s smoking? You knohere’s fire.’ ”

    “ell, you knohere’s a hard-on.’ ”

    “Is t all you ever talk about?”

    “No, but   gone out?”

    “I just kno’s going to flare up.”

    “o master suc, Mr. Miyake?”

    “I  call it an ‘art.’ I learned it  or not, you learn everyto kno building a fire.”

    “I see,” said Keisuke. “A Boy Scout, huh?”

    “t’s not tory, of course. I alent, too. I don’t mean to brag, but o making a bonfire I alent t most folks just don’t have.”

    “It must give you a lot of pleasure, but I don’t suppose talent of yours makes you lots of money.”

    “true. None at all,” Miyake said h a smile.

    As ed, a feo flicker at ter of t crackling sound. Junko let out a long-o . to stretc t fees to be done but to ctle by little, trengty t  like t to t Junko.

    “I understand you’re from Kobe, Mr. Miyake,” Keisuke said in a c o ives or somet month?”

    “I’m not sure,” said Miyake. “I don’t ies  for years.”

    “Years? ell, you sure  lost your Kansai accent.”

    “No? I can’t tell, myself.”

    “I do declare, you must be joking,” said Keisuke in exaggerated Kansai tones.

    “Cut t, Keisuke. t t to rying to talk to me in a p. You eastern farm boys ter off tearing around on your motorcycles during the slack season.”

    “ guy, but you’ve got one  ‘Ibaragi.’ All you Kansai types are ready to put us eastern ‘farm boys’ do t. I give up,” Keisuke said. “But seriously, t ? You must V?”

    “Let’s c,” Miyake said. “hiskey?”

    “You bet.”

    “Jun?”

    “Just a little,” Junko said.

    Miyake pulled a tal flask from t of  and  to Keisuke, ed off to  touco t down and sucked in a sh.

    “t is great!”  to be a ty-one-year-old single malt! Super stuff! Aged in oak. You can tish angels.”

    “Give me a break, Keisuke. It’s t Suntory you can buy.”

    Next it urn. Sook ttle into tried a feiny sips. S cer t special  to omacouc, Miyake took one quiet s all at once, but in sloages. t  t Miyake’s bonfires. t and gentle, like an expert caress,  it—to warm people’s s.

    Junko never said muced all tood, and forgave. A family, a real family, .

    Junko came to touffed all to a Boston bag, and run arain to t at random until sokorozao ttle seaside spot in Ibaraki Prefecture, a toor’s across from tation sment, and took a job at a convenience store on t o e: Don’t  me, and please don’t look for me, I’m doing fine.

    So deat stand t of ten on tle. On oget proud and strong to reet  ed near tary sco groo sed to look at range neer s-six in to  all.

    Plus, o boast about. Near top of ered middle scion time it  tom, and s into  to say t supid: s couldn’t concentrate. Sarted. ried to concentrate,   o breat became irregular. Attending sce torture.

    Not long after stled in to surfer. all, dyed iful straigeettled in Ibaraki for its good surf, and formed a rock band ered at a second-rate private college, but  to campus and s of graduating. s ran an old respected ssy of Mito, and  resort, but ention of settling dosed o ride around sun truck, surf, and play tar in teur band—an easygoing lifestyle t anyone could see  going to last forever.

    Junko got friendly er so be in ies—a small, slim guy

    by sundoo  e,  sneakers. In er,  on a creased leat and sometimes a baseball cap. Junko fit. Everytlessly clean.

    Speakers of t  nonexistent in ticed Miyake. “ed  old Junko. “s pictures. I don’t tuff. But o manage. o tokyo sometimes and comes back late in ting supplies or somet knoalk muc  a bad guy.”

    Miyake o tore at least times a day. In t noon, er day.  civilities, but so er a while.

    ore one morning, sook a c en, even if   buy lots of milk and beer and keep it in tor? ouldn’t t be more convenient? Of course, it o tore people, but still . . .

    “Yea,” ’d make more sense to stock up, but I can’t.”

    “?” Junko asked.

    “ell, it’s just, like—I can’t, t’s all.”

    “I didn’t mean to pry or anyt let it bot’s just t ions  mean any .”

    Miyake ated a moment, scratcy, ell you trut or. I don’t like refrigerators.”

    Junko smiled. “I don’t like refrigerators myself, but I do  it kind of inconvenient not having one?”

    “Sure it’s inconvenient, but I e t can I do? I can’t sleep at nigor around.”

    a  Junko. But noed in han ever.

    alking on ter, Junko saending a bonfire, alone. It o Miyake, t tanding beside aller. traded simple greetings, t all as tared at the fire.

    It  time t Junko felt a certain “sometc , because it oo raoo oo real to be called an idea. It coursed t-sad, c-gripping, strange sort of feeling. For a time after it had gone, she had goose flesh on her arms.

    “tell me, Mr. Miyake, range?”

    “how so?”

    “I don’t kno’s like all of a sudden you get very clear about somet usually notice in everyday life. I don’t kno it, I’m not smart enoug c t kind of feeling.”

    Miyake t about it as to be. It’s free. So it can look like anyt all depending on  it. If you get t kind of feeling ’s because it’s s kind of feeling you  I mean?”

    “Uh-huh.”

    “But it doesn’t  any fire. For someto self o be free. It  ove or a cigarette lig  even o be free, you’ve got to make it in t kind of place.  easy. Not just anybody can do it.”

    “But you can do it, Mr. Miyake?”

    “Sometimes I can, sometimes I can’t. Most of time, I can. If I really put my mind to it, I pretty much can.”

    “You like bonfires, don’t you?”

    Miyake nodded. “It’s almost a sickness o live in t noto’s because ts more drift’s t o make bonfires. Kind of pointless, huh?”

    er t, Junko . Sometimes imes  one. ermined by t of drift  Miyake ion.  her “bonfire buddy.”

    to t log, and no last ttling in for a long burn. Junko loared at t tiged t care, using a long branco keep too quickly or losing strengtoss it in w was needed.

    Keisuke announced t omac’ve caug need a crap.”

    “ you go ?” Junko said.

    “Yea you?”

    “Don’t  Jun,” Miyake said. “I’ll see her home. She’ll be fine.”

    “Okay, t the beach.

    “,” Junko said, ss carried aoo much.”

    “I kno it’s no good being too sensible  spoils t s, too.”

    “Maybe so, but  use hing.”

    “Some t ’s not easy being young.”

    t for a e ts and letting time floe paths.

    t it?”

    “ kind of something?”

    “Something personal.”

    Miyake scratcubbly c of  kno’d be okay.”

    “I  wondering if, maybe, you had a wife somewhere.”

    Miyake pulled t of , opened it, and took a long, slo on to , and looked at Junko.

    “ come from all of a sudden?”

    “It’s not all of a sudden. I kind of got tarted talking about t you once told me, about  about tching a fire.”

    “I did?”

    “And do you oo?”

    “Yup. two of ’em.”

    “In Kobe, right?”

    “t’s here.”

    “here in Kobe?”

    “tion. Up in t muchere.”

    Miyake narro turned o the fire.

    “t’s  . I’m not using my brain any more t king. I t I mean.”

    “Do you  to tell me more?”

    “No,” Miyake said. “I really don’t.”

    “Okay, I’ll stop, t I hink you’re a good person.”

    “t’s not tip of a brancell me, Jun,  about o die?”

    Junko pondered then shook her head.

    “ell, I t it all time,” Miyake said.

    “o die?”

    “Locked inside a refrigerator,”  ime. Some kid is playing around inside a refrigerator t somebody’s tes. Like t.”

    to ttering sparks. Miyake c  did notrangely unreal shadows across his face.

    “I’m in tigotal darkness, and I die little by little. It mig be so bad if I could just plain suffocate. But it doesn’t  iny bit of air manages to get in t takes a really long time. I scream, but nobody can ices I’m missing. It’s so cramped in t move. I squirm and squirm, but t open.”

    Junko said nothing.

    “I  drenc. I’ve been dreaming about dying sloc even after I  end. t part of t is absolutely dry. I go to tcor. Of course, I don’t or, so I ougo realize it’s a dream, but I still don’t notice. I’m trange going on, but I open tor is pitc’s out. I ick my  out from trong, and tart dragging me inside. I let out a ime I ’s my dream. It’s altle detail. And every time I , it’s just as scary as t.”

    Miyake poked tip of a branc back in place.

    “It’s so real, I feel as if I’ve already died imes.”

    “art he dream?”

    “ay,  remember  me alone. A year . . . no, t all. I o be okay for me. But no. t as I o t started up again. And once it gets going, thing I can do.”

    Miyake shook his head.

    “I’m sorry, Jun, I really s be telling you tories.”

    “Yes you s a cigarette betch, inhaling a deep lungful of smoke. “Go on.”

    ts end. tra drifto t Junko t the ocean sounded louder.

    “ter called Jack London,” Miyake began.

    “Sure, te about the fire.”

    “t’s ime,  o die by droely sure of it. o t nigice, and he’d drown.”

    “Did he really drown?”

    Miyake sh morphine.”

    “So ion didn’t come true. Or maybe o make sure it  come true.”

    “On t least, it looks like t,” Miyake said, pausing for a moment. “But in a sense, .  to tions can stand for sometimes. And tand for can be a lot more intense ty. t’s t t ion. Do you see w I mean?”

    Junko t about it for a w see w .

    “I’ve never once t about o die,” s t it. I don’t even know o live.”

    Miyake gave a nod. “I kno’s guided by to die.”

    “Is t how you’re living?” she asked.

    “I’m not sure. It seems t imes.”

    Miyake sat do to Junko. tle more ed and older t and sticking out.

    “ kind of pictures ing?” she asked.

    “t ougo explain.”

    “Okay, t’s t ted?”

    “I call it Landscape iron. I finis t’s just a picture of an iron in a room.”

    “ so tougo explain?”

    “Because it’s not really an iron.”

    S  an iron?”

    “t’s right.”

    “Meaning it stands for something else?”

    “Probably.”

    “Meaning you can only paint it if you use someto stand for it?”

    Miyake nodded in silence.

    Junko looked up to see t tars in tance. Miyake t piece, to to touco . Sook in a long, deep breat.

    “You knohing?” she said.

    “?”

    “I’m completely empty.”

    “Yeah?”

    “Yeah.”

    S, tears ill ears  stop.

    “t all in er, . Empty.”

    “I know w you mean,” he said.

    “Really?”

    “Yea.”

    “ can I do?”

    “Get a good nig usually fixes it.”

    “ I’ve got is not so easy to fix.”

    “You may be rig may not be t easy.”

    Just teamy ion of er trapped in a log. Miyake raised  time.

    “So, w should I do?” Junko asked.

    “I don’t knooget do you say?”

    “Sounds good to me.”

    “Are you serious?”

    “I’m serious.”

    ill around  silent for a  leat.

    “Any’s  till t,” Miyake said. “e built it, so  company to t goes out, and it turns pitchen we can die.”

    “Good,” Junko said. “But how?”

    “I’ll thing.”

    “Okay.”

    rapped in t of a grorangely bony. I could never live . I could never get inside . But I migo die h him.

    S  must be t. Most of to as t piece still glole

    itself out.

    “Mind if I take a little nap?” she asked.

    “Sure, go ahead.”

    “ill you wake me w?”

    “Don’t art feeling t to or not.”

    Sed t, you’ll start feeling t to or not. t o a fleeting, but deep, sleep.