The Residence of the Willows is an old Western-style house in Azabu, named for the mature weeping willows that rise above its stone garden wall. Its secluded grounds lead to a greenhouse where Aomamé and Madame meet in private; the house’s sheltered quiet becomes part of the conditions under which they can speak freely about matters that cannot be discussed aloud elsewhere.

Setting and Approach

Aomamé arrives on a Saturday shortly after one in the afternoon. The residence stands at the top of a steep slope in Azabu, amid narrow, winding streets through which almost no cars pass. The old willows overhang the garden wall, and their branches sway silently when the wind moves them, an image that suggests wandering souls. Small birds perch above; a large cat dozes on a sunny corner of the roof. Broad-canopied trees keep the neighborhood dim even in daylight, and the surrounding streets are ordinarily quiet, though the cicadas become deafening as summer approaches.

The house seems to alter the pace of its surroundings. Aomamé feels that time has slowed slightly on entering the grounds. Several embassies are nearby, but visitors are uncommon, adding to the impression of a secluded enclave within the city. The scene’s stillness is not simply scenic: it establishes a place where ordinary urban movement recedes and attention can settle on the people and secrets inside.

Security and the Visit

The quiet grounds are also controlled. Aomamé gives her name through the intercom, smiles at the camera above it, and waits as the metal gate opens automatically. Once she has entered, it closes behind her. She crosses the garden on the familiar path to the house, walking upright and deliberately because she knows the surveillance camera is following her. Her casual clothes—a grey marine-style jacket beneath a dark blue windbreaker, jeans, white sneakers, and a shoulder bag—contrast with the composure of her passage through the monitored entrance. Her ice pick is not with her; when she does not need it, it rests in a drawer at home.

On this visit, Madame receives her in the greenhouse rather than the usual interior rooms. Tamaru returns from the entrance to guide her around the garden and past the willows to the glass structure behind the main building. He opens its door only slightly, so that the butterflies inside will not escape, ushers Aomamé in first, then slips in after her and closes the glass behind them. The care taken over this small threshold makes the greenhouse feel protected without making it inaccessible to the two women who need it.

The Greenhouse

Sunlight enters freely because no trees have been planted around the greenhouse. Inside, the flowers are common rather than rare or showy: gladioluses, anemones, daisies, and familiar potted plants line the shelves. Aomamé, who has no particular interest in flowers, nevertheless likes the greenhouse and its unpretentious plants. Its principal inhabitants are the many butterflies, whose needs require sustained attention, knowledge, and labor. Madame appears to devote her care more to their breeding than to collecting exceptional plants; the flowers provide the nectar on which they depend.

The greenhouse holds a springlike calm apart from the world outside. Its enclosed air contains no sound from beyond the glass, and a butterfly can remain asleep there. For Madame, flowers and butterflies are soothing: Aomamé can see their calming effect in the older woman’s expression. The room is somewhat too warm for Aomamé, but not unbearably so. The detail matters because this refuge is not idealized as a space without discomfort; its quiet and privacy are practical, embodied conditions that nonetheless make difficult conversation possible.

Madame and the House’s Private Use

Madame is nearly seventy-five, small, and white-haired, with her hair cut short. On the day of Aomamé’s visit, she wears a long-sleeved denim shirt, cream cotton trousers, stained tennis shoes, and white gloves, and waters each plant with a large metal watering can. Her clothes seem a size too large, yet she appears at ease in them. Aomamé repeatedly feels respect for her natural, unstudied distinction.

The residence and its greenhouse are not merely a picturesque home. Outside high summer, Madame invites Aomamé there from time to time so the two can talk alone, shielded from possible eavesdroppers. Their conversations concern matters that cannot be spoken about in a raised voice. The greenhouse therefore combines two forms of shelter: its glass keeps the butterflies from escaping, while its seclusion helps keep the women’s conversation from being overheard.

In the quiet that follows their conversation, Madame looks directly at Aomamé and insists that what they are doing is not wrong. Aomamé bites her lip lightly and nods in agreement. The residence’s stillness gives this exchange its force: beneath the watchful entrance and within the carefully closed greenhouse, the women affirm their purpose to one another, while the sleeping butterfly remains undisturbed.