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What more did Kino need to know about him?īack in college, Kino had been a standout middle-distance runner, but in his junior year he’d torn his Achilles tendon and had to give up on the idea of joining a corporate track team. He was just a regular customer who came to the bar, enjoyed a beer and a whiskey, read silently, paid in cash, then left. While the man read, Kino did what he would do if he were alone-wash dishes, prepare sauces, choose records to play, or page through the newspaper. Kino never spoke much himself, and didn’t find it hard to remain silent around others. Once Kino got used to the man, though, he never felt uncomfortable around him, even when it was just the two of them. Sometimes he would study the day’s menu on the blackboard and order a light meal. He would invariably have a beer first, then a whiskey. The man began coming regularly to Kino’s bar. As Kino stood behind the counter, he glanced up occasionally at the seat the man had occupied, half expecting him still to be there, raising his hand a couple of inches to order something. But after the man had left his presence remained. Kino breathed a small sigh of relief as soon as he was out the door. He counted out exact change so that he wouldn’t get any coins back. He read for another half hour, then stood up and paid his bill in cash. The man took a sip, scrutinized the glass, and narrowed his eyes. Kino poured some White Label into a glass, added the same amount of water and two small, nicely formed ice cubes. Add an equal amount of water and a little bit of ice, if you would.” “Which brand?” Kino asked, but the man said he had no preference. After half an hour, finished with the beer, he raised his hand an inch or two to motion Kino over, and ordered a whiskey.

The man chose the seat at the end of the counter, took off his coat, and in a quiet voice ordered a beer, then silently read a thick book. It was seven-thirty, on a chilly mid-April evening, and the bar was empty. At first, Kino tagged him as a yakuza, and was on his guard around him. He looked to be in his early thirties, and he wore a long gray raincoat, though it wasn’t raining. His appearance had immediately caught Kino’s eye-the bluish shaved head, the thin build yet broad shoulders, the keen glint in his eye, the prominent cheekbones and wide forehead. Kino remembered the first time the man had come to his bar. The man was tall, yet, for some reason, preferred that cramped, narrow spot.

A staircase in the back made the ceiling slanted and low, so it was hard to stand up there without bumping your head.

The bar was seldom crowded, and that particular seat was the most inconspicuous and the least comfortable. When it wasn’t occupied, that is, but it was nearly always free. The man always sat in the same seat, the stool farthest down the counter.

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