Haruki Murakami - Norwegian Wood - Inglês (2024)

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<p>2</p><p>HARUKI MURAKAMI was born in Kyoto in 1949. His works of fiction include</p><p>Dance Dance Dance, The Elephant Vanishes, Hard-boiled Wonderland and the End of</p><p>the World, A Wild Sheep Chase, The Wind-up Bird Chronicle, South of the Border,</p><p>West of the Sun, and Sputnik Sweetheart. His first work of non-fiction,</p><p>Underground, is an examination of the Tokyo subway gas attack. He has</p><p>translated into Japanese the work of F. Scott Fitzgerald, Truman Capote, John</p><p>Irving, and Raymond Carver.</p><p>JAY RUBIN is a professor of Japanese literature at Harvard University. He</p><p>has translated Haruki Murakami's The Wind-up Bird Chronicle and has</p><p>completed a study entitled Haruki</p><p>Also by Haruki Murakami in English translation</p><p>Fiction</p><p>DANCE DANCE DANCE</p><p>THE ELEPHANT VANISHES</p><p>HARD-BOILED WONDERLAND AND THE END OF THE WORLD</p><p>A WILD SHEEP CHASE</p><p>THE WIND-UP BIRD CHRONICLE</p><p>SOUTH OF THE BORDER, WEST OF THE SUN</p><p>SPUTNIK SWEETHEART</p><p>Non-fiction</p><p>UNDERGROUND</p><p>3</p><p>Haruki Murakami</p><p>NORWEGIAN WOOD</p><p>Translated from the Japanese by</p><p>Jay Rubin</p><p>THE HARVILL PRESS</p><p>LONDON</p><p>For Many Fetes</p><p>This e-book is not to be sold.</p><p>scanned by: ditab</p><p>4</p><p>First published as Normeei no marl by Kodansha, Tokyo in 1987</p><p>First published in Great Britain in 2000 by The Harvill Press</p><p>2 Aztec Row, Berners Road, London N10PW</p><p>This paperback edition first published in 2001</p><p>www.harvill.com</p><p>1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2</p><p>© Haruki Murakami, 1987</p><p>English translation © Haruki Murakami, 2000</p><p>Haruki Murakami asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work</p><p>A CIP catalogue record is available from the British Library</p><p>ISBN 186046 818 7</p><p>Designed and typeset in Iowan Old Style at Libanus Press, Marlborough, Wiltshire</p><p>Printed and bound by Mackays of Chatham</p><p>Half title photograph by John Banagan/ Image Bank</p><p>CONDITIONS OF SALE</p><p>All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or</p><p>transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise,</p><p>without the prior permission of the publisher</p><p>This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold,</p><p>hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover</p><p>other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being</p><p>imposed on the subsequent purchaser</p><p>5</p><p>I was 37 then, strapped in my seat as the huge 747 plunged through</p><p>dense cloud cover on approach to Hamburg airport. Cold November</p><p>rains drenched the earth, lending everything the gloomy air of a</p><p>Flemish landscape: the ground crew in waterproofs, a flag atop a squat</p><p>airport building, a BMW billboard. So - Germany again.</p><p>Once the plane was on the ground, soft music began to flow from the</p><p>ceiling speakers: a sweet orchestral cover version of the Beatles'</p><p>"Norwegian Wood". The melody never failed to send a shudder</p><p>through me, but this time it hit me harder than ever.</p><p>I bent forward, my face in my hands to keep my skull from splitting</p><p>open. Before long one of the German stewardesses approached and</p><p>asked in English if I were sick.</p><p>"No," I said, "just dizzy."</p><p>"Are you sure?"</p><p>"Yes, I'm sure. Thanks."</p><p>She smiled and left, and the music changed to a Billy Joel tune. I</p><p>straightened up and looked out of the window at the dark clouds</p><p>hanging over the North Sea, thinking of all I had lost in the course of</p><p>my life: times gone for ever, friends who had died or disappeared,</p><p>feelings I would never know again.</p><p>The plane reached the gate. People began unfastening their seatbelts</p><p>and pulling luggage from the overhead lockers, and all the while I was</p><p>in the meadow. I could smell the grass, feel the wind on my face, hear</p><p>the cries of the birds. Autumn 1969, and soon I would be 20.</p><p>6</p><p>The stewardess came to check on me again. This time she sat next to</p><p>me and asked if I was all right.</p><p>"I'm fine, thanks," I said with a smile. "Just feeling kind of blue."</p><p>"I know what you mean," she said. "It happens to me, too, every once</p><p>in a while."</p><p>She stood and gave me a lovely smile. "Well, then, have a nice trip.</p><p>Auf Wiedersehen."</p><p>"Auf Wiedersehen."</p><p>Eighteen years have gone by, and still I can bring back every detail of</p><p>that day in the meadow. Washed clean of summer's dust by days of</p><p>gentle rain, the mountains wore a deep, brilliant green. The October</p><p>breeze set white fronds of head-high grasses swaying. One long streak</p><p>of cloud hung pasted across a dome of frozen blue. It almost hurt to</p><p>look at that far-off sky. A puff of wind swept across the meadow and</p><p>through her hair before it slipped into the woods to rustle branches and</p><p>send back snatches of distant barking - a hazy sound that seemed to</p><p>reach us from the doorway to another world. We heard no other</p><p>sounds. We met no other people. We saw only two bright red birds</p><p>leap startled from the center of the meadow and dart into the woods.</p><p>As we ambled along, Naoko spoke to me of wells.</p><p>Memory is a funny thing. When I was in the scene I hardly paid it any</p><p>attention. I never stopped to think of it as something that would make</p><p>a lasting impression, certainly never imagined that 18 years later I</p><p>would recall it in such detail. I didn't give a damn about the scenery</p><p>that day. I was thinking about myself. I was thinking about the</p><p>beautiful girl walking next to me. I was thinking about the two of us</p><p>together, and then about myself again. I was at that age, that time of</p><p>life when every sight, every feeling, every thought came back, like a</p><p>boomerang, to me. And worse, I was in love. Love with</p><p>complications. Scenery was the last thing on my mind.</p><p>7</p><p>Now, though, that meadow scene is the first thing that comes back to</p><p>me. The smell of the grass, the faint chill of the wind, the line of the</p><p>hills, the barking of a dog: these are the first things, and they come</p><p>with absolute clarity. I feel as if I can reach out and trace them with a</p><p>fingertip. And yet, as clear as the scene may be, no one is in it. No</p><p>one. Naoko is not there, and neither am I. Where could we have</p><p>disappeared to? How could such a thing have happened? Everything</p><p>that seemed so important back then - Naoko, and the self I was then,</p><p>and the world I had then: where could they have all gone? It's true, I</p><p>can't even bring back her face - not straight away, at least. All I'm left</p><p>holding is a background, pure scenery, with no people at the front.</p><p>True, given time enough, I can remember her face. I start joining</p><p>images - her tiny, cold hand; her straight, black hair so smooth and</p><p>cool to the touch; a soft, rounded earlobe and the microscopic mole</p><p>just beneath it; the camel-hair coat she wore in the winter; her habit of</p><p>looking straight into my eyes when asking a question; the slight</p><p>trembling that would come to her voice now and then (as though she</p><p>were speaking on a windy hilltop) - and suddenly her face is there,</p><p>always in profile at first, because Naoko and I were always out</p><p>walking together, side by side. Then she turns to me and smiles, and</p><p>tilts her head just a little, and begins to speak, and she looks into my</p><p>eyes as if trying to catch the image of a minnow that has darted across</p><p>the pool of a limpid spring.</p><p>It takes time, though, for Naoko's face to appear. And as the years</p><p>have passed, the time has grown longer. The sad truth is that what I</p><p>could recall in 5 seconds all too soon needed 10, then 30, then a full</p><p>minute - like shadows lengthening at dusk. Someday, I suppose, the</p><p>shadows will be swallowed up in darkness. There is no way around it:</p><p>my memory is growing ever more distant from the spot where Naoko</p><p>used to stand - where my old self used to stand. And nothing but</p><p>scenery, that view of the meadow in October, returns again and again</p><p>to me like a symbolic scene in a film. Each time it appears, it delivers</p><p>8</p><p>a kick to some part of my</p><p>his favourites), found a pair of</p><p>girls (the world was full of pairs of girls), talked to them, drank, went</p><p>to a hotel, and had sex with them. He was a great talker. Not that he</p><p>had anything great to say, but girls would get carried away listening to</p><p>him, they'd drink too much and end up sleeping with him. I guess they</p><p>enjoyed being with somebody so nice and handsome and clever. And</p><p>the most amazing thing was that, just because I was with him, I</p><p>seemed to become equally fascinating to them. Nagasawa would urge</p><p>me to talk, and girls would respond to me with the same smiles of</p><p>admiration they offered him. He worked his magic, a real talent he had</p><p>that impressed me every time. Compared with Nagasawa, Kizuki's</p><p>conversational gifts were child's play. This was a completely different</p><p>level of accomplishment. As much as I found myself caught up in</p><p>Nagasawa's power, though, I still missed Kizuki. I felt a new</p><p>admiration for his sincerity. Whatever talents he had he would share</p><p>with Naoko and me alone, while Nagasawa was bent on disseminating</p><p>his considerable gifts to all around him. Not that he was dying to sleep</p><p>with the girls he found: it was just a game to him.</p><p>I was not too crazy about sleeping with girls I didn't know. It was an</p><p>easy way to take care of my sex drive of course, and I did enjoy all the</p><p>holding and touching, but I hated the morning after. I'd wake up and</p><p>find this strange girl sleeping next to me, and the room would reek of</p><p>alcohol, and the bed and the lighting and the curtains had that special</p><p>"love hotel" garishness, and my head would be in a hungover fog.</p><p>Then the girl would wake up and start groping around for her knickers</p><p>42</p><p>and while she was putting on her stockings she'd say something like,</p><p>"I hope you used one last night. It's the worst day of the month for</p><p>me." Then she'd sit in front of a mirror and start grumbling about her</p><p>aching head or her uncooperative make-up while she redid her lipstick</p><p>or attached her false eyelashes. I would have preferred not to spend</p><p>the whole night with them, but you can't worry about a midnight</p><p>curfew while you're seducing women (which runs counter to the laws</p><p>of physics anyway), so I'd go out with an overnight pass. This meant I</p><p>had to stay put until morning and go back to the dorm filled with self-</p><p>loathing and disillusionment, sunlight stabbing my eyes, mouth coated</p><p>with sand, head belonging to someone else.</p><p>When I had slept with three or four girls this way, I asked Nagasawa,</p><p>"After you've done this 70 times, doesn't it begin to seem kind of</p><p>pointless?"</p><p>"That proves you're a decent human being," he said. "Congratulations.</p><p>There is absolutely nothing to be gained from sleeping with one</p><p>strange woman after another. It just tires you out and makes you</p><p>disgusted with yourself. It's the same for me."</p><p>"So why the hell do you keep it up?"</p><p>"Hard to say. Hey, you know that thing Dostoevsky wrote on</p><p>gambling? It's like that. When you're surrounded by endless</p><p>possibilities, one of the hardest things you can do is pass them up. See</p><p>what I mean?"</p><p>"Sort of."</p><p>"Look. The sun goes down. The girls come out and drink. They</p><p>wander around, looking for something. I can give them that</p><p>something. It's the easiest thing in the world, like drinking water from</p><p>a tap. Before you know it, I've got 'em down. It's what they expect.</p><p>That's what I mean by possibility. It's all around you. How can you</p><p>ignore it? You have a certain ability and the opportunity to use it: can</p><p>you keep your mouth shut and let it pass?"</p><p>"I don't know, I've never been in a situation like that," I said with a</p><p>43</p><p>smile. "I can't imagine what it's like."</p><p>"Count your blessings," Nagasawa said.</p><p>His womanizing was the reason Nagasawa lived in a dorm despite his</p><p>affluent background. Worried that Nagasawa would do nothing else if</p><p>allowed to live alone in Tokyo, his father had compelled him to live</p><p>all four years at university in the dormitory. Not that it mattered much</p><p>to Nagasawa. He was not going to let a few rules bother him.</p><p>Whenever he felt like it, he would get an overnight permission and go</p><p>girl-hunting or spend the night at his girlfriend's flat. These</p><p>permissions were not easy to get, but for him they were like free</p><p>passes - and for me, too, as long as he did the asking.</p><p>Nagasawa did have a steady girlfriend, one he'd been going out with</p><p>since his first year. Her name was Hatsumi, and she was the same age</p><p>as Nagasawa. I had met her a few times and found her to be very nice.</p><p>She didn't have the kind of looks that immediately attracted attention,</p><p>and in fact she was so ordinary that when I first met her I had to</p><p>wonder why Nagasawa couldn't do better, but anyone who talked to</p><p>her took an immediate liking to her. Quiet, intelligent, funny, caring,</p><p>she always dressed with immaculate good taste. I liked her a lot and</p><p>knew that if I could have a girlfriend like Hatsumi, I wouldn't be</p><p>sleeping around with a bunch of easy marks. She liked me, too, and</p><p>tried hard to fix me up with a first-year in her club so we could</p><p>double-date, but I would make up excuses to keep from repeating past</p><p>mistakes. Hatsumi went to the absolute top girls' college in the</p><p>country, and there was no way I was going to be able to talk to one of</p><p>those super-rich princesses.</p><p>Hatsumi had a pretty good idea that Nagasawa was sleeping around,</p><p>but she never complained to him. She was seriously in love, but she</p><p>never made demands.</p><p>"I don't deserve a girl like Hatsumi," Nagasawa once said to me. I had</p><p>to agree with him.</p><p>44</p><p>That winter I found a part-time job in a little record shop in Shinjuku.</p><p>It didn't pay much, but the work was easy - just watching the place</p><p>three nights a week - and they let me buy records cheap. For</p><p>Christmas I bought Naoko a Henry Mancini album with a track of her</p><p>favourite "Dear Heart". I wrapped it myself and added a bright red</p><p>ribbon. She gave me a pair of woollen gloves she had knitted. The</p><p>thumbs were a little short, but they did keep my hands warm.</p><p>"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, blushing, "What a bad job!"</p><p>"Don't worry, they fit fine," I said, holding my gloved hands out to</p><p>her.</p><p>"Well, at least you won't have to shove your hands in your pockets, I</p><p>guess."</p><p>Naoko didn't go home to Kobe for the winter break. I stayed in Tokyo,</p><p>too, working in the record shop right up to the end of the year. I didn't</p><p>have anything especially fun to do in Kobe or anyone I wanted to see.</p><p>The dorm's dining hall was closed for the holiday, so I went to</p><p>Naoko's flat for meals. On New Year's Eve we had rice cakes and</p><p>soup like everybody else.</p><p>A lot happened in late January and February that year, 1969.</p><p>At the end of January, Storm Trooper went to bed with a raging fever.</p><p>Which meant I had to stand up Naoko that day. I had gone to a lot of</p><p>trouble to get my hands on some free tickets for a concert. She had</p><p>been especially eager to go because the orchestra was performing one</p><p>of her favourites: Brahms' Fourth Symphony. But with Storm Trooper</p><p>tossing around in bed on the verge of what looked like an agonizing</p><p>death, I couldn't just leave him, and I couldn't find anyone stupid</p><p>enough to nurse him in my place. I bought some ice and used several</p><p>layers of plastic bags to hold it on his forehead, wiped his sweating</p><p>brow with cold towels, took his temperature every hour, and even</p><p>changed his vest for him. The fever stayed high for a day, but the</p><p>following morning he jumped out of bed and started exercising as</p><p>though nothing had happened. His temperature was completely</p><p>45</p><p>normal. It was hard to believe he was a human being.</p><p>"Weird," said Storm Trooper. "I've never run a fever in my life." It</p><p>was almost as if he were blaming me.</p><p>This made me mad. "But you did have a fever," I insisted, showing</p><p>him the two wasted tickets.</p><p>"Good thing they were free," he said. I wanted to grab his radio and</p><p>throw it out of the window, but instead I went back to bed with a</p><p>headache.</p><p>It snowed several times in February.</p><p>Near the end of the month I got into a stupid fight with one of the</p><p>third-years on my floor and punched him. He hit his head against the</p><p>concrete wall, but he wasn't badly injured, and Nagasawa straightened</p><p>things out for me. Still, I was called into the dorm Head's office and</p><p>given a warning, after which I grew increasingly uncomfortable living</p><p>in the dormitory.</p><p>The academic year ended in March, but I came up a few credits short.</p><p>My exam results were mediocre - mostly "C"s and "D"s with a few</p><p>"B"s. Naoko had all the grades she needed to begin the spring term of</p><p>her second year. We had completed one full cycle of the seasons.</p><p>Halfway through April Naoko turned 20. She was seven months older</p><p>than I was, my own birthday being in November. There was</p><p>something strange about her becoming 20. I. felt as if the only thing</p><p>that made sense, whether for Naoko or for me, was to keep going back</p><p>and forth between 18 and 19. After 18 would come 19, and after 19,</p><p>18, of course. But she turned 20. And in the autumn, I would do the</p><p>same. Only the dead stay 17 for ever.</p><p>It rained on her birthday. After lectures I bought a cake nearby and</p><p>took the tram to her flat. "We ought to have a celebration," I said. I</p><p>probably would have wanted the same thing if our positions had been</p><p>reversed. It must be hard to pass your twentieth birthday alone. The</p><p>tram had been packed and had pitched so wildly that by the time I</p><p>46</p><p>arrived at Naoko's room the cake was looking more like the Roman</p><p>Colosseum than anything else. Still, once I had managed to stand up</p><p>the 20 candles I had brought along, light them, close the curtains and</p><p>turn out the lights, we had the makings of a birthday party. Naoko</p><p>opened a bottle of wine. We drank, had some cake, and enjoyed a</p><p>simple dinner.</p><p>"I don't know, it's stupid being 20," she said. "I'm just not ready. It</p><p>feels weird. Like somebody's pushing me from behind."</p><p>"I've got seven months to get ready," I said with a laugh.</p><p>"You're so lucky! Still 19!" said Naoko with a hint of envy.</p><p>While we ate I told her about Storm Trooper's new jumper. Until then</p><p>he had had only one, a navy-blue pullover, so two was a big move for</p><p>him. The jumper itself was a nice one, red and black with a knitted</p><p>deer motif, but on him it made everybody laugh. He couldn't work out</p><p>what was going on.</p><p>"W what's so funny, Watanabe?" he asked, sitting next to me in the</p><p>dining hall. "Is something stuck to my forehead?"</p><p>"Nothing," I said, trying to keep a straight face. "There's nothing</p><p>funny. Nice jumper."</p><p>"Thanks," he said, beaming.</p><p>Naoko loved the story. "I have to meet him," she said. "Just once."</p><p>"No way," I said. "You'd laugh in his face." "You think so?"</p><p>"I'd bet on it. I see him every day, and still I can't help laughing</p><p>sometimes."</p><p>We cleared the table and sat on the floor, listening to music and</p><p>drinking the rest of the wine. She drank two glasses in the time it took</p><p>me to finish one.</p><p>Naoko was unusually talkative that night. She told me about her</p><p>childhood, her school, her family. Each episode was a long one,</p><p>executed with the painstaking detail of a miniature. I was amazed at</p><p>the power of her memory, but as I sat listening it began to dawn on me</p><p>that there was something wrong with the way she was telling these</p><p>47</p><p>stories: something strange, warped even. Each tale had its own</p><p>internal logic, but the link from one to the next was odd. Before you</p><p>knew it, story A had turned into story B, which had been contained in</p><p>A, and then came C from something in B, with no end in sight. I found</p><p>things to say in response at first, but after a while I stopped trying. I</p><p>put on a record, and when it ended I lifted the needle and put on</p><p>another. After the last record I went back to the first. She only had six.</p><p>The cycle started with Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band and</p><p>ended with Bill Evans' Waltz for Debbie. Rain fell past the window.</p><p>Time moved slowly. Naoko went on talking by herself.</p><p>It eventually dawned on me what was wrong: Naoko was taking great</p><p>care as she spoke not to touch on certain things. One of those things</p><p>was Kizuki, of course, but there was more than Kizuki. And though</p><p>she had certain subjects she was determined to avoid, she went on</p><p>endlessly and in incredible detail about the most trivial, inane things. I</p><p>had never heard her speak with such intensity before, and so I did not</p><p>interrupt her.</p><p>Once the clock struck eleven, though, I began to feel nervous. She had</p><p>been talking non-stop for more than four hours. I had to worry about</p><p>the last train, and my midnight curfew. I saw my chance and cut in.</p><p>"Time for the troops to go home," I said, looking at my watch. "Last</p><p>train's coming."</p><p>My words did not seem to reach her. Or, if they did, she was unable to</p><p>grasp their meaning. She clamped her mouth shut for a split second,</p><p>then went on with her story. I gave up and, shifting to a more</p><p>comfortable position, drank what was left of the second bottle of wine.</p><p>I thought I had better let her talk herself out. The curfew and the last</p><p>train would have to take care of themselves.</p><p>She did not go on for long, though. Before I knew it, she had stopped</p><p>talking. The ragged end of the last word she spoke seemed to float in</p><p>the air, where it had been torn off. She had not actually finished what</p><p>she was saying. Her words had simply evaporated. She had been</p><p>48</p><p>trying to go on, but had come up against nothing. Something was gone</p><p>now, and I was probably the one who had destroyed it. My words</p><p>might have finally reached her, taken their time to be understood, and</p><p>obliterated whatever energy it was that had kept her talking so long.</p><p>Lips slightly parted, she turned her half focused eyes on mine. She</p><p>looked like some kind of machine that had been humming along until</p><p>someone pulled the plug. Her eyes appeared clouded, as if covered by</p><p>some thin, translucent membrane.</p><p>"Sorry to interrupt," I said, "but it's getting late, and ..."</p><p>One big tear spilled from her eye, ran down her cheek and splattered</p><p>onto a record jacket. Once that first tear broke free, the rest followed</p><p>in an unbroken stream. Naoko bent forwards on all fours on the floor</p><p>and, pressing her palms to the mat, began to cry with the force of a</p><p>person vomiting. Never in my life had I seen anyone cry with such</p><p>intensity. I reached out and placed a hand on her trembling shoulder.</p><p>Then, all but instinctively, I took her in my arms. Pressed against me,</p><p>her whole body trembling, she continued to cry without a sound. My</p><p>shirt became damp - then soaked - with her tears and hot breath. Soon</p><p>her fingers began to move across my back as if in search of</p><p>something, some important thing that had always been there.</p><p>Supporting her weight with my left arm, I used my right hand to</p><p>caress her soft, straight hair. And I waited. In that position, I waited</p><p>for Naoko to stop crying. And I went on waiting. But Naoko's crying</p><p>never stopped.</p><p>I slept with Naoko that night. Was it the right thing to do? I can't tell.</p><p>Even now, almost 20 years later, I can't be sure. I suppose I'll never</p><p>know. But at the time, it was all I could do. She was in a heightened</p><p>state of tension and confusion, and she made it clear she wanted me to</p><p>give her release. I turned the lights down and began, one piece at a</p><p>time, with the gentlest touch I could manage, to remove her clothes.</p><p>Then I undressed. It was warm enough, that rainy April night, for us to</p><p>cling to each other's nakedness without a sense of chill. We explored</p><p>49</p><p>each other's bodies in the darkness without words. I kissed her and</p><p>held her soft breasts in my hands. She clutched at my erection. Her</p><p>opening was warm and wet and asking for me.</p><p>And yet, when I went inside her, Naoko tensed with pain. Was this her</p><p>first time? I asked, and she nodded. Now it was my turn to be</p><p>confused. I had assumed that Naoko had been sleeping with Kizuki all</p><p>that time. I went in as far as I could and stayed that way for a long</p><p>time, holding Naoko, without moving.</p><p>And then, as she began to seem</p><p>calmer, I allowed myself to move inside her, taking a long time to</p><p>come to climax, with slow, gentle movements. Her arms tightened</p><p>around me at the end, when at last she broke her silence. Her cry was</p><p>the saddest sound of orgasm I had ever heard.</p><p>When everything had ended, I asked Naoko why she had never slept</p><p>with Kizuki. This was a mistake. No sooner had I asked the question</p><p>than she took her arms from me and started crying soundlessly again. I</p><p>pulled her bedding from the closet, spread it on the mat floor, and put</p><p>her in beneath the covers. Smoking, I watched the endless April rain</p><p>beyond the window.</p><p>The rain had stopped when morning came. Naoko was sleeping with</p><p>her back to me. Or maybe she hadn't slept at all. Whether she was</p><p>awake or asleep, all words had left her lips, and her body now seemed</p><p>stiff, almost frozen. I tried several times to talk to her, but she would</p><p>not answer or move. I stared for a long time at her naked shoulder, but</p><p>in the end I lost all hope of eliciting a response and decided to get up.</p><p>The floor was still littered with record jackets, glasses, wine bottles</p><p>and the ashtray I had been using. Half the caved-in birthday cake</p><p>remained on the table. It was as if time had come to a halt. I picked up</p><p>the things off the floor and drank two glasses of water at the sink. On</p><p>Naoko's desk lay a dictionary and a French verb chart. On the wall</p><p>above the desk hung a calendar, one without an illustration or photo of</p><p>any kind, just the numbers of the days of the month. There were no</p><p>memos or marks written next to any of the dates.</p><p>50</p><p>I picked up my clothes and dressed. The chest of my shirt was still</p><p>damp and chilly. It had Naoko's smell. On the notepad lying on the</p><p>desk I wrote: I'd like to have a good long talk with you once you've</p><p>calmed down. Please call me soon. Happy</p><p>Birthday. I took one last look at Naoko's shoulder, stepped outside and</p><p>quietly shut the door.</p><p>No call came even after a week had passed. Naoko's house had no</p><p>system for calling people to the phone, and so on Sunday morning I</p><p>took the train out to Kokubunji. She wasn't there, and her name had</p><p>been removed from the door. The windows and storm shutters were</p><p>closed tight. The manager told me that Naoko had moved out three</p><p>days earlier. He had no idea where she had moved to.</p><p>I went back to the dorm and wrote Naoko a long letter addressed to</p><p>her home in Kobe. Wherever she was, they would forward it to her at</p><p>least.</p><p>I gave her an honest account of my feelings. There was a lot I still</p><p>didn't understand, I said, and though I was trying hard to understand, it</p><p>would take time. Where I would be once that time had gone by, it was</p><p>impossible for me to say now, which is why it was impossible for me</p><p>to make promises or demands, or to set down pretty words. For one</p><p>thing, we knew too little of each other. If, however, she would grant</p><p>me the time, I would give it my best effort, and the two of us would</p><p>come to know each other better. In any case, I wanted to see her again</p><p>and have a good long talk. When I lost Kizuki, I lost the one person to</p><p>whom I could speak honestly of my feelings, and I imagined it had</p><p>been the same for Naoko. She and I had needed each other more than</p><p>either of us knew. Which was no doubt why our relationship had taken</p><p>such a major detour and become, in a sense, warped. I probably</p><p>should not have done what I did, and yet I believe that it was all I</p><p>could do. The warmth and closeness I felt for you at that moment was</p><p>something I have never experienced before. I need you to answer this</p><p>51</p><p>letter. Whatever that answer may be, I need to have it.</p><p>No answer came.</p><p>Something inside me had dropped away, and nothing came in to fill</p><p>the empty cavern. There was an abnormal lightness to my body, and</p><p>sounds had a hollow echo to them. I went to lectures more faithfully</p><p>than ever. They were boring, and I never talked to my fellow students,</p><p>but I had nothing else to do. I would sit by myself in the very front</p><p>row of the lecture hall, speak to no one and eat alone. I stopped</p><p>smoking.</p><p>The student strike started at the end of May. "Dismantle the</p><p>University!" they all screamed. Go ahead, do it, I thought. Dismantle</p><p>it. Tear it apart. Crush it to bits. I don't give a damn. It would be a</p><p>breath of fresh air. I'm ready for anything. I'll help if necessary. Just</p><p>go ahead and do it.</p><p>With the campus blockaded and lectures suspended, I started to work</p><p>at a delivery company. Sitting with the driver, loading and unloading</p><p>lorries, that kind of stuff. It was tougher than I thought. At first I could</p><p>hardly get out of bed in the morning with the pain. The pay was good,</p><p>though, and as long as I kept my body moving I could forget about the</p><p>emptiness inside. I worked on the lorries five days a week, and three</p><p>nights a week I continued my job at the record shop. Nights without</p><p>work I spent with whisky and books. Storm Trooper wouldn't touch</p><p>whisky and couldn't stand the smell, so when I was sprawled on my</p><p>bed drinking it straight, he'd complain that the fumes made it</p><p>impossible for him to study and ask me to take my bottle outside.</p><p>"You get the hell out," I growled.</p><p>"But you know drinking in the dorm is a-a-against the rules."</p><p>"I don't give a shit. You get out."</p><p>He stopped complaining, but now I was annoyed. I went to the roof</p><p>and drank alone.</p><p>In June I wrote Naoko another long letter, addressing it again to her</p><p>house in Kobe. It said pretty much the same thing as the first one, but</p><p>52</p><p>at the end I added: Waiting for your</p><p>answer is one of the most painful things I have ever been through. At</p><p>least let me know whether or not I hurt you. When I posted it,</p><p>I felt as if the cavern inside me had grown again.</p><p>That June I went out with Nagasawa twice again to sleep with girls. It</p><p>was easy both times. The first girl put up a terrific struggle when I</p><p>tried to get her undressed and into the hotel bed, but when I began</p><p>reading alone because it just wasn't worth it, she came over and started</p><p>nuzzling me. And after I had done it with the second one, she started</p><p>asking me all kinds of personal questions - how many girls had I slept</p><p>with? Where was I from? Which university did I go to? What kind of</p><p>music did I like? Had I ever read any novels by Osamu Dazai? Where</p><p>would I like to go if I could travel abroad? Did I think her nipples</p><p>were too big? I made up some answers and went to sleep, but next</p><p>morning she said she wanted to have breakfast with me, and she kept</p><p>up the stream of questions</p><p>over the tasteless eggs and toast and coffee. What kind of work did my</p><p>father do? Did I get good marks at school? What month was I born?</p><p>Had I ever eaten frogs? She was giving me a headache, so as soon as</p><p>we had finished eating I said I had to go to work.</p><p>"Will I ever see you again?" she asked with a sad look.</p><p>"Oh, I'm sure we'll meet again somewhere before long," I said, and</p><p>left. What the hell am I doing? I started wondering as soon as I was</p><p>alone, feeling disgusted with myself. And yet it was all I could do. My</p><p>body was hungering for women. All the time I was sleeping with</p><p>those girls I thought about Naoko: the white shape of her naked body</p><p>in the darkness, her sighs, the sound of the rain. The more I thought</p><p>about these things, the hungrier my body grew. I went up to the roof</p><p>with my whisky and asked myself where I thought I was heading.</p><p>Finally, at the beginning of July, a letter came from Naoko. A short</p><p>letter.</p><p>53</p><p>Please forgive me for not answering sooner. But try to understand. It</p><p>took me a very long time before I was in any condition to write, and I</p><p>have started this letter at least ten times. Writing is a painful process</p><p>for me.</p><p>Let me begin with my conclusion. I have decided to take a year off</p><p>from college. Officially, it's a leave of absence, but I suspect that I will</p><p>never be going back. This will no doubt come as a surprise to you, but</p><p>in fact I had been thinking about doing this for</p><p>a very long time. I tried</p><p>a few times to mention it to you, but I was never able to make myself</p><p>begin. I was afraid even to pronounce the words.</p><p>Try not to get so worked up about things. Whatever happened - or</p><p>didn't happen - the end result would have been the same. This may not</p><p>be the best way to put it, and I'm sorry if it hurts you. What I am</p><p>trying to tell you is, I don't want you to blame yourself for what</p><p>happened with me. It is something I have to take on all by myself. I</p><p>had been putting it off for more than a year, and so I ended up making</p><p>things very difficult for you. There is probably no way to put it off any</p><p>longer.</p><p>After I moved out of my flat, I came back to my family's house in</p><p>Kobe and was seeing a doctor for a while. He tells me there is a place</p><p>in the hills outside Kyoto that would be perfect for me, and I'm</p><p>thinking of spending a little time there. It's not exactly a hospital, more</p><p>a sanatorium kind of thing with a far freer style of treatment. I'll leave</p><p>the details for another letter. What I need now is to rest my nerves in a</p><p>quiet place cut off from the world.</p><p>I feel grateful in my own way for the year of companionship you gave</p><p>me. Please believe that much even if you believe nothing else. You are</p><p>not the one who hurt me. I myself am the one who did that. This is</p><p>truly how I feel.</p><p>For now, however, I am not prepared to see you. It's not that I don't</p><p>want to see you: I'm simply not prepared for it. The moment I feel</p><p>ready, I will write to you. Perhaps then we can get to know each other</p><p>54</p><p>better. As you say, this is probably what we should do: get to know</p><p>each other better.</p><p>Goodbye.</p><p>I read Naoko's letter again and again, and each time I would be filled</p><p>with that same unbearable sadness I used to feel whenever Naoko</p><p>herself stared into my eyes. I had no way to deal with it, no place I</p><p>could take it to or hide it away. Like the wind passing over my body,</p><p>it had neither shape nor weight nor could I wrap myself in it. Objects</p><p>in the scene would drift past me, but the words they spoke never</p><p>reached my ears.</p><p>I continued to spend my Saturday nights sitting in the hall. There was</p><p>no hope of a phone call, but I didn't know what else to do with the</p><p>time. I would switch on a baseball game and pretend to watch it as I</p><p>cut the empty space between me and the television set in two, then cut</p><p>each half in two again, over and over, until I had fashioned a space</p><p>small enough to hold in my hand.</p><p>I would switch the set off at ten, go back to my room, and go to sleep.</p><p>At the end of the month, Storm Trooper gave me a firefly. It was in an</p><p>instant coffee jar with air holes in the lid and containing some blades</p><p>of grass and a little water. In the bright room the firefly looked like</p><p>some kind of ordinary black insect you'd find by a pond somewhere,</p><p>but Storm Trooper insisted it was the real thing. "I know a firefly</p><p>when I see one," he said, and I had no reason or basis to disbelieve</p><p>him.</p><p>"Fine," I said. "It's a firefly." It had a sleepy look on its face, but it</p><p>kept trying to climb up the slippery glass walls of the jar and falling</p><p>back.</p><p>"I found it in the quad," he said.</p><p>"Here? By the dorm?"</p><p>"Yeah. You know the hotel down the street? They release fireflies in</p><p>55</p><p>their garden for summer guests. This one made it over here."</p><p>Storm Trooper was busy stuffing clothes and notebooks into his black</p><p>Boston bag as he spoke.</p><p>We were several weeks into the summer holidays, and he and I were</p><p>almost the only ones left in the dorm. I had carried on with my jobs</p><p>rather than go back to Kobe, and he had stayed on for a practical</p><p>training session. Now that the training had ended, he was going back</p><p>to the mountains of Yamanashi.</p><p>"You could give this to your girlfriend," he said. "I'm sure she'd love</p><p>it."</p><p>"Thanks," I said.</p><p>After dark the dorm was hushed, like a ruin. The flag had been</p><p>lowered and the lights glowed in the windows of the dining hall. With</p><p>so few students left, they turned on only half the lights in the place,</p><p>keeping the right half dark and the left lighted. Still, the smell of</p><p>dinner drifted up to me - some kind of cream stew.</p><p>I took my bottled firefly to the roof. No one else was up there. A white</p><p>vest hung on a clothesline that someone had forgotten to take in,</p><p>waving in the evening breeze like the discarded shell of some huge</p><p>insect. I climbed a steel ladder in the corner of the roof to the top of</p><p>the dormitory's water tank. The tank was still warm with the heat of</p><p>the sunlight it had absorbed during the day. I sat in the narrow space</p><p>above the tank, leaning against the handrail and coming face-to-face</p><p>with an almost full white moon. The lights of Shinjuku glowed to the</p><p>right, Ikebukuro to the left. Car headlights flowed in brilliant streams</p><p>from one pool of light to the other. A dull roar of jumbled sounds</p><p>hung over the city like a cloud.</p><p>The firefly made a faint glow in the bottom of the jar, its light all too</p><p>weak, its colour all too pale. I hadn't seen a firefly in years, but the</p><p>ones in my memory sent a far more intense light into the summer</p><p>darkness, and that brilliant, burning image was the one that had stayed</p><p>with me all that time.</p><p>56</p><p>Maybe this firefly was on the verge of death. I gave the jar a few</p><p>shakes. The firefly bumped against the glass walls and tried to fly, but</p><p>its light remained dim.</p><p>I tried to remember when I had last seen fireflies, and where it might</p><p>have been. I could see the scene in my mind, but was unable to recall</p><p>the time or place. I could hear the sound of water in the darkness and</p><p>see an old-fashioned brick sluice gate. It had a handle you could turn</p><p>to open and close the gate. The stream it controlled was small enough</p><p>to be hidden by the grass on its banks. The night was dark, so dark I</p><p>couldn't see my feet when I turned out my torch. Hundreds of fireflies</p><p>drifted over the pool of water held back by the sluice gate, their hot</p><p>glow reflected in the water like a shower of sparks.</p><p>I closed my eyes and steeped myself in that long-ago darkness. I heard</p><p>the wind with unusual clarity. A light breeze swept past me, leaving</p><p>strangely brilliant trails in the dark. I opened my eyes to find the</p><p>darkness of the summer night a few degrees deeper than it had been.</p><p>I twisted open the lid of the jar and took out the firefly, setting it on</p><p>the two-inch lip of the water tank. It seemed not to grasp its new</p><p>surroundings. It hobbled around the head of a steel bolt, catching its</p><p>legs on curling scabs of paint. It moved to the right until it found its</p><p>way blocked, then circled back to the left. Finally, with some effort, it</p><p>mounted the head of the bolt and crouched there for a while,</p><p>unmoving, as if it had taken its last breath.</p><p>Still leaning against the handrail, I studied the firefly. Neither I nor it</p><p>made a move for a very long time. The wind continued sweeping past</p><p>the two of us while the numberless leaves of the zelkova tree rustled</p><p>in the darkness.</p><p>I waited for ever.</p><p>Only much later did the firefly take to the air. As if some thought had</p><p>suddenly occurred to it, the firefly spread its wings, and in a moment</p><p>57</p><p>it had flown past the handrail to float in the pale darkness. It traced a</p><p>swift arc by the side of the water tank as though trying to bring back a</p><p>lost interval in time. And then, after hovering there for a few seconds</p><p>as if to watch its curved line of light blend into the wind, it finally</p><p>flew off to the east.</p><p>Long after the firefly had disappeared, the trail of its light remained</p><p>inside me, its pale, faint glow hovering on and on in the thick darkness</p><p>behind my eyelids like a lost soul.</p><p>More than once I tried stretching my hand out in the dark. My fingers</p><p>touched nothing. The faint glow remained, just beyond my grasp.</p><p>58</p><p>During the summer holidays the university called in the riot police.</p><p>They broke down the barricades and arrested the students inside. This</p><p>was nothing new. It's what all the students were</p><p>doing at the time. The</p><p>universities were not so easily "dismantled". Massive amounts of</p><p>capital had been invested in them, and they were not about to dissolve</p><p>just because a few students had gone wild. And in fact those students</p><p>who had sealed off the campus had not wanted to dismantle the</p><p>university either. All they had really wanted to do was shift the</p><p>balance of power within the university structure, about which I</p><p>couldn't have cared less. And so, when the strike was finally crushed, I</p><p>felt nothing.</p><p>I went to the campus in September expecting to find rubble. The place</p><p>was untouched. The library's books had not been carted off, the tutors'</p><p>offices had not been destroyed, the student affairs office had not been</p><p>burned to the ground. I was thunderstruck. What the hell had they</p><p>been doing behind the barricades?</p><p>When the strike was defused and lectures started up again under</p><p>police occupation, the first ones to take their seats in the classrooms</p><p>were those arseholes who had led the strike. As if nothing had ever</p><p>happened, they sat there taking notes and answering "present" when</p><p>the register was taken. I found this incredible. After all, the strike was</p><p>still in effect. There had been no declaration bringing it to an end. All</p><p>that had happened was that the university had called in the riot police</p><p>and torn down the barricades, but the strike itself was supposed to be</p><p>59</p><p>continuing. The arseholes had screamed their heads off at the time of</p><p>the strike, denouncing students who opposed it (or just expressed</p><p>doubts about it), at times even trying them in their own kangaroo</p><p>courts. I made a point of visiting those former leaders and asking why</p><p>they were attending lectures instead of continuing to strike, but they</p><p>couldn't give me a straight answer. What could they have said? That</p><p>they were afraid of losing marks through lack of attendance? To think</p><p>that these idiots had been the ones screaming for the dismantling of</p><p>the university! What a joke. The wind changes direction a little, and</p><p>their cries become whispers.</p><p>Hey, Kizuki, I thought, you're not missing a damn thing. This world is</p><p>a piece of shit. The arseholes are getting good marks and helping to</p><p>create a society in their own disgusting image.</p><p>For a while I attended lectures but refused to answer when they took</p><p>the register. I knew it was a pointless gesture, but I felt so bad I had no</p><p>choice. All I managed to do was isolate myself more than ever from</p><p>the other students. By remaining silent when my name was called, I</p><p>made everyone uncomfortable for a few seconds. None of the other</p><p>students spoke to me, and I spoke to none of them.</p><p>By the second week in September I reached the conclusion that a</p><p>university education was meaningless. I decided to think of it as a</p><p>period of training in techniques for dealing with boredom. I had</p><p>nothing I especially wanted to accomplish in society that would</p><p>require me to abandon my studies straight away, and so I went to my</p><p>lectures each day, took notes, and spent my free time in the library</p><p>reading or looking</p><p>things up.</p><p>And though that second week in September had rolled around, there</p><p>was no sign of Storm Trooper. More than unusual, this was an earth-</p><p>shattering development. University had started up again, and it was</p><p>inconceivable that Storm Trooper would miss lectures. A thin layer of</p><p>60</p><p>dust covered his desk and radio. His plastic cup and toothbrush, tea</p><p>tin, insecticide spray and so on stood in a neat row on his shelf.</p><p>I kept the room clean in his absence. I had picked up the habit of</p><p>neatness over the past year and a half, and without him there to take</p><p>care of the room, I had no choice but to do it. I swept the floor each</p><p>day, wiped the window every third day, and aired my mattress once a</p><p>week, waiting for him to come back and tell me what a great job I had</p><p>done.</p><p>But he never came back. I returned from lectures one day to find all</p><p>his stuff gone and his name tag removed from the door. I went to the</p><p>dorm Head's room and asked what had happened.</p><p>"He's withdrawn from the dormitory," he said. "You'll be alone in the</p><p>room for the time being."</p><p>I couldn't get him to tell me why Storm Trooper had disappeared. This</p><p>was a man whose greatest joy in life was to control everything and</p><p>keep others in the dark.</p><p>Storm Trooper's iceberg poster stayed on the wall for a time, but I</p><p>eventually took it down and replaced it with Jim Morrison and Miles</p><p>Davis. This made the room seem a little more like my own. I used</p><p>some of the money I had saved from work to buy a small stereo. At</p><p>night I would drink alone and listen to music. I thought about Storm</p><p>Trooper every now and then, but I enjoyed living alone.</p><p>At 11.30 a.m. one Monday, after a lecture on Euripides in History of</p><p>Drama, I took a ten-minute walk to a little restaurant and had an</p><p>omelette and salad for lunch. The place was on a quiet backstreet and</p><p>was slightly more expensive than the student dining hall, but you</p><p>could relax there, and they knew how to make a good omelette.</p><p>"They" were a married couple who rarely spoke to each other, plus</p><p>one part-time waitress. As I sat there eating by the window, a group of</p><p>four students came in, two men and two women, all rather neatly</p><p>dressed. They took the table near the door, spent some time looking</p><p>61</p><p>over the menu and discussing their options, until one of them reported</p><p>their choices to the waitress.</p><p>Before long I noticed that one of the girls kept glancing in my</p><p>direction. She had extremely short hair and wore dark sunglasses and</p><p>a white cotton mini-dress. I had no idea who she was, so I went on</p><p>with my lunch, but she soon slipped out of her seat and came over to</p><p>where I was sitting. With one hand on the edge of my table, she said,</p><p>"You're Watanabe, aren't you?"</p><p>I raised my head and looked at her more closely. Still I could not</p><p>recall ever having seen her. She was the kind of girl you notice, so if I</p><p>had met her before I should have been able to recognize her</p><p>immediately, and there weren't that many people in my university who</p><p>knew me by name.</p><p>"Mind if I sit down?" she asked. "Or are you expecting somebody?"</p><p>Still uncertain, I shook my head. "No, nobody's coming. Please."</p><p>With a wooden clunk, she dragged a chair out and sat down opposite,</p><p>staring straight at me through her sunglasses, then</p><p>glancing at my plate.</p><p>"Looks good," she said.</p><p>"It is good. Mushroom omelette and green pea salad." "Damn," she</p><p>said. "Oh, well, I'll get it next time. I've</p><p>already ordered something else."</p><p>"What are you having?" "Macaroni and cheese."</p><p>"Their macaroni and cheese isn't bad, either," I said. "By the way, do I</p><p>know you? I don't recall. .."</p><p>"Euripides," she said. "Electra. "No god hearkens to the voice of lost</p><p>Electra.' You know - the class just ended."</p><p>I stared hard at her. She took off her sunglasses. At last I remembered</p><p>her - a first-year I had seen in History of Drama. A striking change in</p><p>hairstyle had prevented me recognizing her.</p><p>"Oh," I said, touching a point a few inches below my shoulder, "your</p><p>hair was down to here before the summer holidays." "You're right,"</p><p>62</p><p>she said. "I had a perm this summer, and it was just awful. I was ready</p><p>to kill myself. I looked like a corpse on the beach with seaweed stuck</p><p>to my head. So I decided as long as I was ready to die, I might as well</p><p>cut it all off. At least it's cool in the summer." She ran her hand</p><p>through her pixie cut and gave me a smile.</p><p>"It looks good, though," I said, still munching my omelette.</p><p>"Let me see your profile."</p><p>She turned away and held the pose a few seconds.</p><p>"Yeah, I thought so. It really looks good on you. Nicely shaped head.</p><p>Pretty ears, too, uncovered like that."</p><p>"So I'm not mad after all! I thought I looked good myself once I cut it</p><p>all off. Not one guy likes it, though. They all tell me I look like a</p><p>concentration camp survivor. What's this thing that guys have for girls</p><p>with long hair? Fascists, the whole bunch of them! Why do guys all</p><p>think girls with long hair are the classiest, the sweetest, the most</p><p>feminine? I mean, I myself know at least 250 unclassy girls with long</p><p>hair. Really."</p><p>"I think you look better now than you did before," I said. And I meant</p><p>it. As far as I could recall, with long hair she had been just another</p><p>cute student. A fresh and physical life force surged from the girl who</p><p>sat before me now. She was like a small animal that has popped into</p><p>the world with the coming of spring. Her eyes moved like an</p><p>independent organism with joy, laughter, anger, amazement and</p><p>despair. I hadn't seen a face so vivid and expressive in ages, and I</p><p>enjoyed watching it live and move.</p><p>"Do you mean it?" she asked.</p><p>I nodded, still munching on my salad.</p><p>She put on her sunglasses and looked at me from behind them.</p><p>"You're not lying, are you?"</p><p>"I like to think of myself as an honest man," I said. "Far out."</p><p>"So tell me: why do you wear such dark glasses?"</p><p>"I felt defenceless when my hair got short all of a sudden.</p><p>63</p><p>As if somebody had thrown me into a crowd all naked." "Makes</p><p>sense," I said, eating the last of my omelette. She watched me with</p><p>intense interest.</p><p>"You don't have to go back to them?" I asked, indicating her three</p><p>companions.</p><p>"Nah. I'll go back when they serve the food. Am I interrupting your</p><p>meal?"</p><p>"There's nothing left to interrupt," I said, ordering coffee when she</p><p>showed no sign of leaving. The wife took my dishes and brought milk</p><p>and sugar.</p><p>"Now you tell me," she said. "Why didn't you answer today when they</p><p>called the register? You are Watanabe, aren't you?</p><p>Toru Watanabe?"</p><p>"That's me."</p><p>"So why didn't you answer?" "I just didn't feel like it today."</p><p>She took off her sunglasses again, set them on the table, and looked at</p><p>me as if she were staring into the cage of some rare animal at a zoo.</p><p>"I just didn't feel like it today." You talk like Humphrey Bogart. Cool.</p><p>Tough."</p><p>"Don't be silly. I'm just an ordinary guy like everybody else."</p><p>The wife brought my coffee and set it on the table. I took a sip without</p><p>adding sugar or milk.</p><p>"Look at that. You drink it black."</p><p>"It's got nothing to do with Humphrey Bogart," I explained patiently.</p><p>"I just don't happen to have a sweet tooth. I think you've got me all</p><p>wrong."</p><p>"Why are you so tanned?"</p><p>"I've been hiking around the last couple of weeks. Rucksack. Sleeping</p><p>bag."</p><p>"Where'd you go?"</p><p>"Kanazawa. Noto Peninsula. Up to Niigata." "Alone?"</p><p>"Alone," I said. "Found some company here and there." "Some</p><p>64</p><p>romantic company? New women in far-off places." "Romantic? Now I</p><p>know you've got me wrong. How's a guy with a sleeping bag on his</p><p>back and his face all stubbly supposed to have romance?"</p><p>"Do you always travel alone like that?" "Uh-huh."</p><p>"You enjoy solitude?" she asked, resting her cheek on her hand.</p><p>"Travelling alone, eating alone, sitting by yourself in lecture halls ..."</p><p>"Nobody likes being alone that much. I don't go out of my way to</p><p>make friends, that's all. It just leads to disappointment."</p><p>The tip of one earpiece in her mouth, sunglasses dangling down, she</p><p>mumbled, ""Nobody likes being alone. I just hate to be disappointed.'</p><p>You can use that line if you ever write your autobiography."</p><p>"Thanks," I said.</p><p>"Do you like green?"</p><p>"Why do you ask?"</p><p>"You're wearing a green polo shirt."</p><p>"Not especially. I'll wear anything."</p><p>""Not especially. I'll wear anything.' I love the way you talk. Like</p><p>spreading plaster, nice and smooth. Has anybody ever told you that?"</p><p>"Nobody," I said.</p><p>"My name's Midori," she said. ""Green'. But green looks terrible on</p><p>me. Weird, huh? It's like I'm cursed, don't you think? My sister's name</p><p>is Momoko: "Peach girl'."</p><p>"Does she look good in pink?"</p><p>"She looks great in pink! She was born to wear pink. It's totally</p><p>unfair."</p><p>The food arrived at Midori's table, and a guy in a madras jacket called</p><p>out to her, "Hey, Midori, come 'n' get it!" She waved at him as if to</p><p>say "I know".</p><p>"Tell me," she said. "Do you take lecture notes? In drama?" "I do."</p><p>"I hate to ask, but could I borrow your notes? I've missed twice, and I</p><p>don't know anybody in the class." "No problem," I said, pulling the</p><p>notebook from my bag.</p><p>65</p><p>After checking to make sure I hadn't written anything personal in it, I</p><p>handed it to Midori.</p><p>"Thanks," she said. "Are you coming to lectures the day after</p><p>tomorrow?"</p><p>"Yeah."</p><p>"Meet me here at noon. I'll give you back your notebook and buy you</p><p>lunch. I mean ... it's not as if you get an upset stomach or anything if</p><p>you don't eat alone, right?"</p><p>"No," I said. "But you don't have to buy me lunch just because I'm</p><p>lending you my notebook."</p><p>"Don't worry," she said. "I like buying people lunch. Anyway,</p><p>shouldn't you write it down somewhere? You won't forget?"</p><p>"I won't forget. Day after tomorrow. Twelve o'clock. Midori. Green."</p><p>From the other table, somebody called out, "Hurry up, Midori, your</p><p>food's getting cold!"</p><p>She ignored the call and asked me, "Have you always talked like</p><p>that?"</p><p>"I think so," I said. "Never noticed before." And in fact no one had</p><p>ever told me there was anything unusual about the way I spoke.</p><p>She seemed to be mulling something over for a few seconds. Then she</p><p>stood up with a smile and went back to her table. She waved to me as</p><p>I walked past their table, but the three others barely glanced in my</p><p>direction.</p><p>At noon on Wednesday there was no sign of Midori in the restaurant. I</p><p>thought I might wait for her over a beer, but the place started to fill up</p><p>as soon as the drink arrived, so I ordered lunch and ate alone. I</p><p>finished at 12.35, but still no Midori. Paying my bill, I went outside</p><p>and crossed the street to a little shrine, where I waited on the stone</p><p>steps for my head to clear and Midori to come. I gave up at one</p><p>o'clock and went to read in the library. At two I went to my German</p><p>66</p><p>lecture.</p><p>When it was over I went to the student affairs office and looked for</p><p>Midori's name in the class list for History of Drama. The only Midori</p><p>in the class was Midori Kobayashi. Next I flipped through the cards of</p><p>the student files and found the address and phone number of a Midori</p><p>Kobayashi who had entered the university in 1969. She lived in a</p><p>north-west suburb, Toshima, with her family. I slipped into a phone</p><p>box and dialled the number.</p><p>A man answered: "Kobayashi Bookshop." Kobayashi Bookshop?</p><p>"Sorry to bother you," I said, "but I wonder if Midori might be in?"</p><p>"No, she's not," he said.</p><p>"Do you think she might be on campus?"</p><p>"Hmm, no, she's probably at the hospital. Who's calling, please?"</p><p>Instead of answering, I thanked him and hung up. The hospital? Could</p><p>she have been injured or fallen ill? But the man had spoken without</p><p>the least sense of emergency. "She's probably at the hospital," he had</p><p>said, as easily as he might have said "She's at the fish shop". I thought</p><p>about a few other possibilities until thinking itself became too</p><p>problematic, then I went back to the dorm and stretched out on my bed</p><p>reading Lord Jim, which I'd borrowed from Nagasawa. When I had</p><p>finished it, I went to his room to give it back.</p><p>Nagasawa was on his way to the dining hall, so I went with him for</p><p>dinner.</p><p>"How'd the exams go?" I asked. The second round of upper level</p><p>exams for the Foreign Ministry had been held in August.</p><p>"Same as always," said Nagasawa as if it had been nothing.</p><p>"You take 'em, you pass. Group discussions, interviews ... like</p><p>screwin' a chick."</p><p>"In other words, easy," I said. "When do they let you know?"</p><p>"First week of October. If I pass, I'll buy you a big dinner."</p><p>"So tell me, what kind of guys make it to round two? All superstars</p><p>67</p><p>like you?"</p><p>"Don't be stupid. They're a bunch of idiots. Idiots or weirdos. I'd say</p><p>95 per cent of the guys who want to be bureaucrats aren't worth shit.</p><p>I'm not kidding. They can barely read."</p><p>"So why are you trying to join the Foreign Ministry?"</p><p>"All kinds of reasons," said Nagasawa. "I like the idea of working</p><p>overseas, for one. But mainly I want to test my abilities.</p><p>If I'm going</p><p>to test myself, I want to do it in the biggest field there is - the nation. I</p><p>want to see how high I can climb, how much power I can exercise in</p><p>this insanely huge bureaucratic system. Know what I mean?"</p><p>"Sounds like a game."</p><p>"It is a game. I don't give a damn about power and money per se.</p><p>Really, I don't. I may be a selfish bastard, but I'm incredibly cool</p><p>about shit like that. I could be a Zen saint. The one thing I do have,</p><p>though, is curiosity. I want to see what I can do out there in the big,</p><p>tough world."</p><p>"And you have no use for "ideals', I suppose?"</p><p>"None. Life doesn't require ideals. It requires standards of action."</p><p>"But there are lots of other ways to live, aren't there?" I asked.</p><p>"You like the way I live, don't you?"</p><p>"That's beside the point," I said. "I could never get into Tokyo</p><p>University; I can't sleep with any girl I want whenever I want to; I'm</p><p>no great talker; people don't look up to me; I haven't got a girlfriend;</p><p>and the future's not going to open up to me when I get a literature BA</p><p>from a second-rate private university. What does it matter if I like the</p><p>way you live?"</p><p>"Are you saying you envy the way I live?"</p><p>"No, I don't," I said. "I'm too used to being who I am. And I don't</p><p>really give a damn about Tokyo University or the Foreign Ministry.</p><p>The one thing I envy you for is having a terrific girlfriend like</p><p>Hatsumi."</p><p>Nagasawa shut up and ate. When dinner was over he said, "You know,</p><p>68</p><p>Watanabe, I have this feeling like, maybe 10 years or 20 years after</p><p>we get out of this place, we're going to meet again somewhere. And</p><p>one way or another, I think we're going to have some connection."</p><p>"Sounds like Dickens," I said with a smile.</p><p>"I guess it does," he said, smiling back. "But my hunches are usually</p><p>right."</p><p>The two of us left the dining hall and went out to a bar. We stayed</p><p>there drinking until after nine.</p><p>"Tell me, Nagasawa," I asked, "what is the "standard of action' in your</p><p>life?"</p><p>"You'll laugh if I tell you," he said.</p><p>"No I won't."</p><p>"All right," he said. "To be a gentleman."</p><p>I didn't laugh, but I nearly fell off my chair. "To be a gentleman? A</p><p>gentleman?"</p><p>"You heard me."</p><p>"What does it mean to be a gentleman? How do you define it?"</p><p>"A gentleman is someone who does not what he wants to do but what</p><p>he should do."</p><p>"You're the weirdest guy I've ever met," I said.</p><p>"You're the straightest guy I've ever met," he said. And he paid for us</p><p>both.</p><p>I went to the following week's drama lecture, but still saw no sign of</p><p>Midori Kobayashi. After a quick survey of the room convinced me she</p><p>wasn't there, I took my usual seat in the front row and wrote a letter to</p><p>Naoko while I waited for the lecturer to arrive. I wrote about my</p><p>summer travels - the roads I had walked, the towns I had passed</p><p>through, the</p><p>people I had met. And every night I thought of you. Now that I can no</p><p>longer see you, I realize how much I need you. University is incredibly</p><p>boring, but as a matter of self-discipline I am going to all my lectures</p><p>69</p><p>and doing all the assignments. Everything seems pointless since you</p><p>left. I'd like to have a nice, long talk with you. If possible, I'd like to</p><p>visit your sanatorium and see you for several hours. And, if possible,</p><p>I'd like to go out walking with you side by side the way we used to.</p><p>Please try to answer this letter - even a short note. I won't mind.</p><p>I filled four sheets, folded them, slipped them into an envelope, and</p><p>addressed it to Naoko care of her family.</p><p>By then the lecturer had arrived, wiping the sweat from his brow as he</p><p>took the register. He was a small, mournfullooking man who walked</p><p>with a metal cane. While not exactly fun, the lectures in his course</p><p>were always well prepared and worthwhile. After remarking that the</p><p>weather was as hot as ever, he began to talk about the use of the deus</p><p>ex machina in Euripides and explained how the concept of "god" was</p><p>different in Euripides than in Aeschylus or Sophocles. He had been</p><p>talking for some 15 minutes when the lecture-hall door opened and in</p><p>walked Midori. She was wearing a dark blue sports shirt, cream-</p><p>coloured cotton trousers and her usual sunglasses. After flashing a</p><p>"sorry I'm late" kind of smile at the professor, she sat down next to</p><p>me. Then she took a notebook - my notebook - from her shoulder bag,</p><p>and handed it to me. Inside, I found a note: Sorry about Wednesday.</p><p>Are you angry?</p><p>The lecture was about half over and the professor was drawing a</p><p>sketch of a Greek stage on the blackboard when the door opened again</p><p>and two students in helmets walked in. They looked like some kind of</p><p>comedy team, one tall, thin and pale, the other short, round and dark</p><p>with a long beard that didn't suit him. The tall one carried an armful of</p><p>political agitation handbills. The short one walked up to the professor</p><p>and said, with a degree of politeness, that they would like to use the</p><p>second half of his lecture for political debate and hoped that he would</p><p>cooperate, adding, "The world is full of problems far more urgent and</p><p>relevant than Greek tragedy." This was more an announcement than a</p><p>request. The professor replied, "I rather doubt that the world has</p><p>70</p><p>problems far more urgent and relevant than Greek tragedy, but you're</p><p>not going to listen to anything I have to say, so do what you like."</p><p>Grasping the edge of the table, he set his feet on the floor, picked up</p><p>his cane and limped out of the classroom.</p><p>While the tall student passed out his handbills, the round one went to</p><p>the podium and started lecturing. The handbills were full of the usual</p><p>simplistic sloganeering: "SMASH</p><p>FRAUDULENT ELECTIONS FOR UNIVERSITY PRESIDENT!",</p><p>"MARSHAL ALL FORCES FOR NEW ALL-CAMPUS STRIKE!",</p><p>"CRUSH THE IMPERIAL-EDUCATIONAL-INDUSTRIAL</p><p>COMPLEX!"</p><p>I had no problem with what they were saying, but the writing was</p><p>lame. It had nothing to inspire confidence or arouse the passions. And</p><p>the round man's speech was just as bad - the same old tune with</p><p>different words. The true enemy of this bunch was not State Power but</p><p>Lack of Imagination.</p><p>"Let's get out of here," said Midori.</p><p>I nodded and stood, and the two of us made for the door. The round</p><p>man said something to me at that point, but I couldn't catch it. Midori</p><p>waved to him and said, "See ya later."</p><p>,Hey, are we counter-revolutionaries?" Midori asked me when we</p><p>were outside. "Are we going to be strung upon telephone poles if the</p><p>revolution succeeds?"</p><p>"Let's have lunch first, just in case."</p><p>"Good. There's a place I want to take you to. It's a bit far, though. Can</p><p>you spare the time?"</p><p>"Yeah, I'm free until my two o'clock class."</p><p>Midori took me by bus to Yotsuya and showed me to a fancy boxed-</p><p>lunch speciality shop in a sheltered spot just behind the station. The</p><p>minute we sat down they served us soup and the lunch of the day in</p><p>square, red-lacquered boxes. This was a place worth a bus ride to eat</p><p>at.</p><p>71</p><p>"Great food," I said.</p><p>"And cheap, too. I've been coming here since school. My old school's</p><p>just down the street. They were so strict, we had to sneak out to eat</p><p>here. They'd suspend you if they caught you eating out."</p><p>Without the sunglasses, Midori's eyes looked somewhat sleepier than</p><p>they had the last time. When she was not playing with the narrow</p><p>silver bracelet on her left wrist, she would be rubbing at the corners of</p><p>her eyes with the tip of her little finger.</p><p>"Tired?" I asked.</p><p>"Kind of. I'm not getting enough sleep. But I'm OK, don't worry," she</p><p>said. "Sorry about the other day. Something important came up and I</p><p>just couldn't get out of it. All of a sudden, in the morning. I thought</p><p>about calling you at the restaurant, but I couldn't remember the name,</p><p>and I didn't know your home number. Did you wait long?"</p><p>"No big deal. I've got a lot of time on my hands."</p><p>A lot?"</p><p>"Way more than I need. I wish I could give you some to help you</p><p>sleep."</p><p>Midori rested her cheek on her hand and smiled at me. "What a nice</p><p>guy you are."</p><p>"Not nice. I just have time to kill,"</p><p>I said. "By the way, I called your</p><p>house that day and somebody told me you were at the hospital.</p><p>Something wrong?"</p><p>"You called my house?" she asked with a slight wrinkle forming</p><p>between her eyebrows. "How did you get my number?"</p><p>"Looked it up in the student affairs office. Anyone can do that."</p><p>She nodded once or twice and started playing with the bracelet again.</p><p>"I never would have thought of that. I suppose I could have looked up</p><p>your number. Anyway, about the hospital, I'll tell you next time. I</p><p>don't feel like it now. Sorry."</p><p>"That's OK. I didn't mean to pry."</p><p>"No, you're not prying. I'm just kind of tired. Like a monkey in the</p><p>72</p><p>rain."</p><p>"Shouldn't you go home and get some sleep?" "Not now. Let's get out</p><p>of here."</p><p>She took me to her old school, a short walk from Yotsuya.</p><p>Passing the station, I thought about Naoko and our endless walking. It</p><p>had all started from there. I realized that if I hadn't run into Naoko on</p><p>the train that Sunday in May, My life would have been very different</p><p>from what it was now. But then I changed my mind: no, even if we</p><p>hadn't met that day, my life might not have been any different. We</p><p>were supposed to meet. If not then, some other time. I didn't have any</p><p>basis for thinking this: it was just a feeling.</p><p>Midori Kobayashi and I sat on a park bench together, looking at her</p><p>old school. Ivy clung to the walls, and pigeons huddled under the</p><p>gables, resting their wings. It was a nice, old building with character.</p><p>A great oak tree stood in the playground, and a column of white</p><p>smoke rose straight up beside it. The fading summer light gave the</p><p>smoke a soft and cloudy look.</p><p>"Do you know what that smoke is?" Midori asked me all of a sudden.</p><p>"No idea," I said.</p><p>"They're burning sanitary towels."</p><p>"Really?" I couldn't think of anything else to say.</p><p>"Sanitary towels, tampons, stuff like that," she said with a smile. "It is</p><p>a girls' school. The old caretaker collects them from all the receptacles</p><p>and burns them in the incinerator. That's the smoke."</p><p>"Whoa."</p><p>"Yeah, that's what I used to say to myself whenever I was in class and</p><p>saw the smoke outside the window. "Whoa'. Think about it: the school</p><p>had almost a thousand girls. So, say 900 of them have started their</p><p>periods, and maybe a fifth of them are menstruating at any one time:</p><p>180 girls. That's 180 girls' worth of towels in the receptacles every</p><p>day."</p><p>73</p><p>"I bet you're right - though I'm not sure about the maths."</p><p>"Anyway, it's a lot. 180 girls. What do you think it feels like to collect</p><p>and burn that much stuff?"</p><p>"Can't imagine," I said. How could I have imagined what the old man</p><p>was going through? Midori and I went on watching the smoke.</p><p>"I really didn't want to go to this school," Midori said. She gave her</p><p>head a little shake. "I wanted to go to an absolutely ordinary State</p><p>school with ordinary people where I could relax and have fun like an</p><p>ordinary teenager. But my parents thought it would look good for me</p><p>to go to this fancy place. They're the ones who stuck me in here. You</p><p>know: that's what happens when you do well in primary school. The</p><p>teacher tells your parents "With marks like hers, she ought to go</p><p>there.' So that's where I ended up. I went for six years and I never</p><p>liked it. All I could think about was getting out. And you know, I've</p><p>got certificates of merit for never having been late or missed a day of</p><p>school. That's how much I hated the place. Get it?"</p><p>"No, I don't get it."</p><p>"It's because I hated the place so much. I wasn't going to let it beat me.</p><p>If I'd let it get to me once I'd be finished. I was scared I'd just keep</p><p>slipping down and down. I'd crawl to school with a temperature of</p><p>103. The teacher would ask me if I was sick, but I'd say no. When I</p><p>left they gave me certificates for perfect attendance and punctuality,</p><p>plus a French dictionary. That's why I'm taking German now. I didn't</p><p>want to owe this school anything. I'm not kidding."</p><p>"Why did you hate it so much?</p><p>"Did you like your school?"</p><p>"Well, no, but I didn't especially hate it, either. I went to an ordinary</p><p>State school but I never thought about it one way or another."</p><p>"Well, this school," Midori said, scratching the corner of her eye with</p><p>her little finger, "had nothing but upper-class girls - almost a thousand</p><p>girls with good backgrounds and good exam results. Rich girls. They</p><p>had to be rich to survive. High tuition, endless contributions,</p><p>74</p><p>expensive school trips. For instance, if we went to Kyoto, they'd put</p><p>us up in a first-class inn and serve us tea ceremony food on lacquer</p><p>tables, and they'd take us once a year to the most expensive hotel in</p><p>Tokyo to study table manners. I mean, this was no ordinary school.</p><p>Out of 160 girls in my class, I was the only one from a middle-class</p><p>neighbourhood like Toshima. I looked at the school register once to</p><p>see where the others lived, and every single one of them was from a</p><p>rich area. Well, no, there was one girl from way out in Chiba with the</p><p>farmers, so I got kind of friendly with her. And she was really nice.</p><p>She invited me to her house, though she apologized for how far I'd</p><p>have to travel to get there. I went and it was incredible, this giant</p><p>piece of land you'd have to walk 15 minutes to get around. It had this</p><p>amazing garden and two dogs like compact cars they fed steaks to.</p><p>But still, this girl felt embarrassed about living out in Chiba. This is a</p><p>girl who would be driven to school in a Mercedes Benz if she was</p><p>late! By a chauffeur! Like right out of the Green Hornet: the hat, the</p><p>white gloves, the whole deal. And still she had this inferiority</p><p>complex. Can you believe it?"</p><p>I shook my head.</p><p>"I was the only one in the whole school who lived in a place like Kita-</p><p>Otsuka Toshima. And under "parent's profession' it said "bookshop</p><p>owner'. Everybody in my class thought that was so neat: "Oh, you're</p><p>so lucky, you can read any book you like' and stuff. Of course, they</p><p>were thinking of some monster bookshop like Kinokuniya. They could</p><p>never have imagined the poor, little Kobayashi Bookshop. The door</p><p>creaks open and you see nothing but magazines. The steady sellers are</p><p>the women's glossies with illustrated pull-out sections on the latest</p><p>sexual techniques. The local housewives buy them and sit at the</p><p>kitchen table reading them from cover to cover, and give 'em a try</p><p>when their husbands get home. And they've got the most incredible</p><p>positions! Is this what housewives have on their minds all day? The</p><p>comics are the other big-seller: Magazine, Sunday, Jump. And of</p><p>75</p><p>course the weeklies. So this "bookshop' is almost all magazines. Oh,</p><p>there are a few books, paperbacks, mysteries and swashbucklers and</p><p>romances. That's all that sells. And How-To books: how to win at Go,</p><p>how to raise bonsai, how to give wedding speeches, how to have sex,</p><p>how to stop smoking, you name it. We even sell writing supplies -</p><p>stacks of ballpoint pens and pencils and notebooks next to the till. But</p><p>that's it. No War and Peace, no Kenzaburo Oe, no Catcher in the Rye.</p><p>That's the Kobayashi Bookshop. That's how "lucky' I am. Do you</p><p>think I'm lucky?"</p><p>"I can just see the place."</p><p>"You know what I mean. Everybody in the neighbourhood comes</p><p>there, some of them for years, and we deliver. It's a good business,</p><p>more than enough to support a family of four; no debts, two daughters</p><p>in college, but that's it. Nothing to spare for extras. They should never</p><p>have sent me to a school like that. It was a recipe for heartache. I had</p><p>to listen to them grumble to me every time the school asked for a</p><p>contribution, and I was always scared to death I'd run out of money if</p><p>I went out with my school friends and they wanted to eat somewhere</p><p>expensive. It's a miserable way to live. Is your family rich?"</p><p>"My family? No, my parents are absolutely ordinary working people,</p><p>not rich, not poor. I know it's not easy for them to send me to a private</p><p>university in Tokyo, but there's just me, so it's not that big a deal.</p><p>They don't give me much</p><p>to live on, so I work part-time. We live in a</p><p>typical house with a little garden and our car is a Toyota Corolla."</p><p>"What's your job like?"</p><p>"I work in a Shinjuku record shop three nights a week. It's easy. I just</p><p>sit there and mind the shop."</p><p>"You're joking?" said Midori. "I don't know, just looking at you I sort</p><p>of assumed you'd never been hard up."</p><p>"It's true. I have never been hard up. Not that I have tons of money,</p><p>either. I'm like most people."</p><p>"Well, "most people' in my school were rich," said Midori, palms</p><p>76</p><p>resting on her lap. "That was the problem."</p><p>"So now you'll have plenty of chances to see a world without that</p><p>problem. More than you want to, maybe."</p><p>"Hey, tell me, what do you think the best thing is about being rich?"</p><p>"I don't know."</p><p>"Being able to say you don't have any money. Like, if I suggested to a</p><p>school friend we do something, she could say, 'Sorry, I don't have any</p><p>money'. Which is something I could never say if the situation was</p><p>reversed. If I said "I don't have any money', it would really mean "I</p><p>don't have any money'. It's sad. Like, if a pretty girl says "I look</p><p>terrible today, I don't want to go out,' that's OK, but if an ugly girl says</p><p>the same thing people laugh at her. That's what the world was like for</p><p>me. For six years, until last year."</p><p>"You'll get over it."</p><p>"I hope so. University is such a relief! It's full of ordinary people."</p><p>She smiled with the slightest curl of her lip and smoothed her short</p><p>hair with the palm of her hand.</p><p>"Do you have a job?" I asked.</p><p>"Yeah, I write map notes. You know those little pamphlets that come</p><p>with maps? With descriptions of the different neighbourhoods and</p><p>population figures and points of interest. Here there's so-and-so hiking</p><p>trail or such-and-such a legend, or some special flower or bird. I write</p><p>the texts for those things. It's so easy! Takes no time at all. I can write</p><p>a whole booklet with a day of looking things up in the library. All you</p><p>have to do is master a couple of secrets and all kinds of work comes</p><p>your way."</p><p>"What kind of secrets?"</p><p>"Like you put in some little something that nobody else has written</p><p>and the people at the map company think you're a literary genius and</p><p>send you more work. It doesn't have to be anything at all, just some</p><p>tiny thing. Like, say, when they built a dam in this particular valley,</p><p>the water covered over a village, but still every spring the birds come</p><p>77</p><p>up from the south and you can see them flying over the lake. Put in</p><p>one little episode like that and people love it, it's so graphic and</p><p>sentimental. The usual part-timer doesn't bother with stuff like that,</p><p>but I can make decent money with what I write."</p><p>"Yeah, but you have to find those "episodes'."</p><p>"True," said Midori with a tilt of her head. "But if you're looking for</p><p>them, you usually find them. And if you don't, you can always make</p><p>up something harmless."</p><p>"Aha!"</p><p>"Peace," said Midori.</p><p>She said she wanted to hear about my dormitory, so I told her the</p><p>usual stories about the raising of the flag and Storm Trooper's radio</p><p>callisthenics. Storm Trooper especially made Midori laugh, as he</p><p>seemed to do with everyone. She said she thought it would be fun to</p><p>have a look at the dorm. There was nothing fun about the place, I told</p><p>her: "Just a few hundred guys in grubby rooms, drinking and</p><p>wanking."</p><p>"Does that include you?"</p><p>"It includes every man on the face of the earth," I explained.</p><p>"Girls have periods and boys wank. Everybody."</p><p>"Even ones with girlfriends? I mean, sex partners."</p><p>"It's got nothing to do with that. The Keio student living next door to</p><p>me has a wank before every date. He says it relaxes him."</p><p>"I don't know much about that stuff. I was in a girls' school so long."</p><p>"I guess the glossy women's magazines don't go into that."</p><p>"Not at all!" she said, laughing. "Anyway, Watanabe, would you have</p><p>some time this Sunday? Are you free?"</p><p>"I'm free every Sunday. Until six, at least. That's when I go to work."</p><p>"Why don't you visit me? At the Kobayashi Bookshop. The shop itself</p><p>will be closed, but I have to hang around there alone all day. I might</p><p>be getting an important phone call. How about lunch? I'll cook for</p><p>78</p><p>you."</p><p>"I'd like that," I said.</p><p>Midori tore a page from a notebook and drew a detailed map of the</p><p>way to her place. She used a red pen to make a large X where the</p><p>house stood.</p><p>"You can't miss it. There's a big sign: 'Kobayashi Bookshop'. Come at</p><p>noon. I'll have lunch ready."</p><p>I thanked her and put the map in my pocket. "I'd better get back to</p><p>campus now," I said. "My German lecture starts at two." Midori said</p><p>she had somewhere to go and took the train from Yotsuya.</p><p>Sunday morning I got up at nine, shaved, did my laundry and hung out</p><p>the clothes on the roof. It was a beautiful day. The first smell of</p><p>autumn was in the air. Red dragonflies flitted around the quadrangle,</p><p>chased by neighbourhood kids swinging nets. With no wind, the</p><p>Rising Sun flag hung limp on its pole. I put on a freshly ironed shirt</p><p>and walked from the dorm to the tram stop. A student neighbourhood</p><p>on a Sunday morning: the streets were dead, virtually empty, most</p><p>shops closed. What few sounds there were echoed with special clarity.</p><p>A girl wearing sabots clip-clopped across the asphalt roadway, and</p><p>next to the tram shelter four or five kids were throwing rocks at a row</p><p>of empty cans. A florist's was open, so I went in and bought some</p><p>daffodils. Daffodils in autumn: that was strange. But I had always</p><p>liked that particular flower.</p><p>Three old women were the only passengers on the Sunday morning</p><p>tram. They all looked at me and my flowers. One of them gave me a</p><p>smile. I smiled back. I sat in the last seat and watched the ancient</p><p>houses passing close to the window. The tram almost touched the</p><p>overhanging eaves. The laundry deck of one house had ten potted</p><p>tomato plants, next to which a big black cat lay stretched out in the</p><p>sun. In the garden of another house, a little girl was blowing soap</p><p>bubbles. I heard an Ayumi Ishida song coming from somewhere, and</p><p>79</p><p>could even catch the smell of curry cooking. The tram snaked its way</p><p>through this private back-alley world. A few more passengers got on</p><p>at stops along the way, but the three old women went on talking</p><p>intently about something, huddled together face-to-face.</p><p>I got off near Otsuka Station and followed Midori's map down a broad</p><p>street without much to look at. None of the shops along the way</p><p>seemed to be doing very well, housed as they were in old buildings</p><p>with gloomy-looking interiors and faded writing on some of the signs.</p><p>Judging from the age and style of the buildings, this area had been</p><p>spared the wartime air raids, leaving whole blocks intact. A few of the</p><p>places had been entirely rebuilt, but just about all had been enlarged or</p><p>repaired in places, and it was these additions that tended to look</p><p>shabbier than the old buildings themselves.</p><p>The whole atmosphere of the place suggested that most of the original</p><p>residents had become fed up with the cars, the filthy air, the noise and</p><p>high rents and moved to the suburbs, leaving only cheap flats and</p><p>company apartments</p><p>and hard-to-sell shops and a few stubborn people who clung to old</p><p>family properties. Everything looked blurred and grimy as though</p><p>wrapped in a haze of exhaust fumes.</p><p>Ten minutes' walk down this street brought me to a corner petrol</p><p>station, where I turned right into a small block of shops, in the middle</p><p>of which hung the sign for the Kobayashi Bookshop. True, it was not</p><p>a big shop, but neither was it as small as Midori's description had led</p><p>me to believe. It was just a typical neighbourhood bookshop, the same</p><p>kind I used to run to on the very day the boys' comics came out. A</p><p>nostalgic mood overtook me as I stood in front of the place.</p><p>The whole front of the shop was sealed off by a big, rolldown metal</p><p>shutter inscribed with a magazine advertisement:</p><p>"WEEKLY BUNSHUN SOLD HERE THURSDAYS". I still had 15</p><p>minutes before</p><p>noon, but I didn't want to kill time wandering through</p><p>the block with a handful of daffodils, so I pressed the doorbell beside</p><p>80</p><p>the shutter and stepped a few paces back to wait. Fifteen seconds went</p><p>by without an answer, and I was debating with myself whether to ring</p><p>again when I heard a window clatter open above me. I looked up to</p><p>see Midori leaning out and waving.</p><p>"Come in," she yelled. "Lift the shutter."</p><p>"Is it OK? I'm kind of early," I shouted back.</p><p>"No problem. Come upstairs. I'm busy in the kitchen." She pulled the</p><p>window closed.</p><p>The shutter made a terrific grinding noise as I raised it three feet from</p><p>the ground, ducked under, and lowered it again. The shop was pitch</p><p>black inside. I managed to feel my way to the back stairway, tripping</p><p>over bound piles of magazines. I unlaced my shoes and climbed the</p><p>stairs to the living area. The interior of the house was dark and</p><p>gloomy. The stairs led to a simple parlour with a sofa and easy chairs.</p><p>It was a small room with dim light coming in the window, reminiscent</p><p>of old Polish films. There was a kind of storage area on the left and</p><p>what looked like the door to a bathroom. I had to climb the steep</p><p>stairway with care to reach the second floor, but once I got there, it</p><p>was so much brighter than the first that I felt greatly relieved.</p><p>"Over here," called Midori's voice. To the right at the top of the stairs</p><p>was what looked like a dining room, and beyond that a kitchen. The</p><p>house itself was old, but the kitchen seemed to have been refitted</p><p>recently with new cabinets and a bright, shiny sink and taps. Midori</p><p>was preparing food. A pot was bubbling, and the air was filled with</p><p>the smell of grilled fish.</p><p>"There's beer in the fridge," she said with a glance in my direction.</p><p>"Have a seat while I finish this." I took a can and sat at the kitchen</p><p>table. The beer was so cold it might have been in the fridge for the</p><p>best part of a year. On the table lay a small, white ashtray, a</p><p>newspaper, and a soy sauce dispenser. There was also a notepad and</p><p>pen, with a phone number and some figures on the pad that seemed to</p><p>be calculations connected with shopping.</p><p>81</p><p>"I should have this done in ten minutes," she said. "Can you stand the</p><p>wait?"</p><p>"Of course I can," I said.</p><p>"Get good and hungry, then. I'm making a lot."</p><p>I sipped my beer and focused on Midori as she went on cooking, her</p><p>back to me. She worked with quick, nimble movements, handling no</p><p>fewer than four cooking procedures at once. Over here she tasted a</p><p>boiled dish, and the next second she was at the cutting board, rat-tat-</p><p>tatting, then she took something out of the fridge and piled it in a</p><p>bowl, and before I knew it she had washed a pot she had finished</p><p>using. From the back she looked like an Indian percussionist - ringing</p><p>a bell, tapping a block, striking a water-buffalo bone, each movement</p><p>precise and economical, with perfect balance. I watched in awe.</p><p>"Let me know if there's something I can do," I said, just in case.</p><p>"That's OK," said Midori with a smile in my direction. "I'm used to</p><p>doing everything alone." She wore slim blue jeans and a navy T-shirt.</p><p>An Apple Records logo nearly covered the back of the shirt. She had</p><p>extremely narrow hips, as if she had somehow skipped puberty when</p><p>the hips grow fuller, and this gave her a far more androgynous look</p><p>than most girls have in slim jeans. The light pouring in from the</p><p>kitchen window gave her figure a kind of vague outline.</p><p>"You really didn't have to put together such a feast," I said.</p><p>"It's no feast," answered Midori without turning my way. "I was too</p><p>busy to do any real shopping yesterday. I'm just throwing together a</p><p>few things I had in the fridge. Really, don't worry. Besides, it's</p><p>Kobayashi family tradition to treat guests well. I don't know what it is,</p><p>but we like to entertain. It's inborn; a kind of sickness. Not that we're</p><p>especially nice or people love us or anything, but if somebody shows</p><p>up we have to treat them well no matter what. We've all got the same</p><p>personality flaw, for better or worse. Take my father, for example. He</p><p>hardly drinks, but the house is full of alcohol. What for? To serve</p><p>guests! So don't hold back: drink all the beer you want."</p><p>82</p><p>"Thanks," I said.</p><p>It suddenly dawned on me that I had left the daffodils downstairs. I</p><p>had set them aside while unlacing my shoes. I slipped back downstairs</p><p>and found the ten bright blossoms lying in the gloom. Midori took a</p><p>tall, slim glass from the cupboard and arranged the flowers in it.</p><p>"I love daffodils," said Midori. "I once sang "Seven Daffodils' in the</p><p>school talent contest. Do you know it?" "Of course."</p><p>"We had a folk group. I played guitar."</p><p>She sang "Seven Daffodils' as she arranged the food on plates.</p><p>Midori's cooking was far better than I had expected: an amazing</p><p>assortment of fried, pickled, boiled and roasted dishes using eggs,</p><p>mackerel, fresh greens, aubergine, mushrooms, radishes, and sesame</p><p>seeds, all cooked in the delicate Kyoto style.</p><p>"This is great," I said with my mouth full.</p><p>"OK, tell me the truth now," Midori said. "You weren't expecting my</p><p>cooking to be very good, were you - judging from the way I look?"</p><p>"Not really," I said honestly.</p><p>"You're from the Kansai region, so you like this kind of delicate</p><p>flavouring, right?"</p><p>"Don't tell me you changed style especially for me?"</p><p>"Don't be ridiculous! I wouldn't go to that much trouble. No, we</p><p>always eat like this."</p><p>"So your mother - or your father - is from Kansai?"</p><p>"Nope. My father was born in Tokyo and my mother's from</p><p>Fukushima. There's not a single Kansai person among my relatives.</p><p>We're all from Tokyo or northern Kanto."</p><p>"I don't get it," I said. "How can you make this 100 per cent authentic</p><p>Kansai-style food? Did somebody teach you?"</p><p>"Well, it's kind of a long story," she said, eating a slice of fried egg.</p><p>"My mother hated housework of any kind, and she almost never</p><p>83</p><p>cooked anything. And we had the business to think about, so it was</p><p>always "Today we're so busy, let's get a take-away' or "Let's just buy</p><p>some croquettes at the butcher's' and so on. I hated that even when I</p><p>was little, I mean like cooking a big pot of curry and eating the same</p><p>thing three days in a row. So then one day - I was in the fifth year of</p><p>school - I decided I was going to cook for the family and do it right. I</p><p>went to the big Kinokuniya in Shinjuku and bought the biggest,</p><p>handsomest cookbook I could find, and I mastered it from cover to</p><p>cover: how to choose a cutting board, how to sharpen knives, how to</p><p>bone a fish, how to shave fresh bonito flakes, everything. It turned out</p><p>the author of the book was from the Kansai, so all my cooking is</p><p>Kansai style."</p><p>"You mean you learned how to make all this stuff from a book?!"</p><p>"I saved my money and went to eat the real thing. That's how I learned</p><p>flavourings. I've got pretty good intuition. I'm hopeless as a logical</p><p>thinker, though."</p><p>"It's amazing you could teach yourself to cook so well without having</p><p>anyone to show you."</p><p>"It wasn't easy," said Midori with a sigh, "growing up in a house</p><p>where nobody gave a damn about food. I'd tell them I wanted to buy</p><p>decent knives and pots and they wouldn't give me the money. "What</p><p>we have now is good enough,' they'd say, but I'd tell them that was</p><p>crazy, you couldn't bone a fish with the kind of flimsy knives we had</p><p>at home, so they'd say, "What the hell do you have to bone a fish for?'</p><p>It was hopeless trying to communicate with them. I saved up my</p><p>allowance and bought real professional knives and pots and strainers</p><p>and stuff. Can you believe it? Here's a 15-year-old girl pinching</p><p>pennies to buy strainers and whetstones and tempura pots when all the</p><p>other girls at school are getting huge allowances and buying beautiful</p><p>dresses and shoes. Don't you feel sorry</p><p>for me?"</p><p>84</p><p>I nodded, swallowing a mouthful of clear soup with fresh junsai</p><p>greens.</p><p>"When I was in the sixth-form, I had to have an egg fryer - a long,</p><p>narrow pan for making</p><p>mind. Wake up, it says. I'm still here. Wake</p><p>up and think about it. Think about why I'm still here. The kicking</p><p>never hurts me. There's no pain at all. Just a hollow sound that echoes</p><p>with each kick. And even that is bound to fade one day. At Hamburg</p><p>airport, though, the kicks were longer and harder than usual. Which is</p><p>why I am writing this book. To think. To understand. It just happens</p><p>to be the way I'm made. I have to write things down to feel I fully</p><p>comprehend them.</p><p>Let's see, now, what was Naoko talking about that day?</p><p>Of course: the "field well". I have no idea whether there was such a</p><p>well. It might have been an image or a sign that existed only inside</p><p>Naoko, like all the other things she used to spin into existence inside</p><p>her mind in those dark days. Once she had described it to me, though,</p><p>I was never able to think of that meadow scene without the well. From</p><p>that day forward, the image of a thing I had never laid eyes on became</p><p>inseparably fused to the actual scene of the field that lay before me. I</p><p>can describe the well in minute detail. It lay precisely on the border</p><p>where the meadow ended and the woods began - a dark opening in the</p><p>earth a yard across, hidden by grass. Nothing marked its perimeter -</p><p>no fence, no stone curb (at least not one that rose above ground level).</p><p>It was nothing but a hole, a wide-open mouth. The stones of its collar</p><p>had been weathered and turned a strange muddy-white. They were</p><p>cracked and chunks were missing, and a little green lizard slithered</p><p>into an open seam. You could lean over the edge and peer down to see</p><p>nothing. All I knew about the well was its frightening depth. It was</p><p>deep beyond measuring, and crammed full of darkness, as if all the</p><p>world's darknesses had been boiled down to their ultimate density.</p><p>"It's really, really deep," said Naoko, choosing her words with care.</p><p>She would speak that way sometimes, slowing down to find the exact</p><p>word she was looking for. "But no one knows where it is," she</p><p>continued. "The one thing I know for sure is that it's around here</p><p>9</p><p>somewhere."</p><p>Hands thrust into the pockets of her tweed jacket, she smiled at me as</p><p>if to say "It's true!"</p><p>"Then it must be incredibly dangerous," I said. "A deep well, but</p><p>nobody knows where it is. You could fall in and that'd be the end of</p><p>you."</p><p>"The end. Aaaaaaaah! Splat! Finished."</p><p>"Things like that must happen."</p><p>"They do, every once in a while. Maybe once in two or three years.</p><p>Somebody disappears all of a sudden, and they just can't find him. So</p><p>then the people around here say, "Oh, he fell in the field well'."</p><p>"Not a nice way to die," I said.</p><p>"No, it's a terrible way to die," said Naoko, brushing a cluster of grass</p><p>seed from her jacket. "The best thing would be to break your neck, but</p><p>you'd probably just break your leg and then you couldn't do a thing.</p><p>You'd yell at the top of your lungs, but nobody would hear you, and</p><p>you couldn't expect anyone to find you, and you'd have centipedes and</p><p>spiders crawling all over you, and the bones of the ones who died</p><p>before are scattered all around you, and it's dark and soggy, and high</p><p>overhead there's this tiny, tiny circle of light like a winter moon. You</p><p>die there in this place, little by little, all by yourself."</p><p>"Yuck, just thinking about it makes my flesh creep," I said.</p><p>"Somebody should find the thing and build a wall around it."</p><p>"But nobody can find it. So make sure you don't go off the path."</p><p>"Don't worry, I won't."</p><p>Naoko took her left hand from her pocket and squeezed my hand.</p><p>"Don't you worry," she said. "You'll be OK. You could go running all</p><p>around here in the middle of the night and you'd never fall into the</p><p>well. And as long as I stick with you, I won't fall in, either."</p><p>"Never?"</p><p>"Never!"</p><p>"How can you be so sure?"</p><p>10</p><p>"I just know," she said, increasing her grip on my hand and walking</p><p>along in silence. "I know these things. I'm always right. It's got</p><p>nothing to do with logic: I just feel it. For example, when I'm really</p><p>close to you like this, I'm not the least bit scared. Nothing dark or evil</p><p>could ever tempt me."</p><p>"Well, that's the answer," I said. "All you have to do is stay with me</p><p>like this all the time."</p><p>"Do you mean that?"</p><p>"Of course."</p><p>Naoko stopped short. So did I. She put her hands on my shoulders and</p><p>peered into my eyes. Deep within her own pattern. Those beautiful</p><p>eyes of hers were looking inside me for a long, long time. Then she</p><p>stretched to her full height and touched her cheek to mine. It was a</p><p>marvelous, warm gesture that stopped my heart for a moment.</p><p>"Thank you."</p><p>"My pleasure," I answered.</p><p>"I'm so happy you said that. Really happy," she said with a sad smile.</p><p>"But it's impossible."</p><p>"Impossible? Why?"</p><p>"It would be wrong. It would be terrible. It - "</p><p>Naoko clamped her mouth shut and started walking again. I could tell</p><p>that all kinds of thoughts were whirling around in her head, so rather</p><p>than intrude on them I kept silent and walked by her side.</p><p>"It would be wrong - wrong for you, wrong for me," she said after a</p><p>long pause.</p><p>"Wrong how?" I murmured.</p><p>"Don't you see? It's just not possible for one person to watch over</p><p>another person forever and ever. I mean, suppose we got married.</p><p>You'd have to work during the day. Who's going to watch over me</p><p>while you're away? Or if you go on a business trip, who's going to</p><p>watch over me then? Can I be glued to you every minute of our lives?</p><p>What kind of equality would there be in that? What kind of</p><p>11</p><p>relationship would that be? Sooner or later you'd get sick of me. You'd</p><p>wonder what you were doing with your life, why you were spending</p><p>all your time babysitting this woman. I couldn't stand that. It wouldn't</p><p>solve any of my problems."</p><p>"But your problems are not going to continue for the rest of your life,"</p><p>I said, touching her back. "They'll end eventually. And when they do,</p><p>we'll stop and think about how to go on from there. Maybe you will</p><p>have to help me. We're not running our lives according to some</p><p>account book. If you need me, use me. Don't you see? Why do you</p><p>have to be so rigid? Relax, let down your guard. You're all tensed up</p><p>so you always expect the worst. Relax your body, and the rest of you</p><p>will lighten up."</p><p>"How can you say that?" she asked in a voice drained of feeling.</p><p>Naoko's voice alerted me to the possibility that I had said something I</p><p>shouldn't have.</p><p>"Tell me how you could say such a thing," she said, staring at the</p><p>ground beneath her feet. "You're not telling me anything I don't know</p><p>already. "Relax your body, and the rest of you will lighten up.' What's</p><p>the point of saying that to me? If I relaxed my body now, I'd fall apart.</p><p>I've always lived like this, and it's the only way I know how to go on</p><p>living. If I relaxed for a second, I'd never find my way back. I'd go to</p><p>pieces, and the pieces would be blown away. Why can't you see that?</p><p>How can you talk about watching over me if you can't see that?"</p><p>I said nothing.</p><p>"I'm confused. Really confused. And it's a lot deeper than you think.</p><p>Deeper ... darker ... colder. But tell me something. How could you</p><p>have slept with me that time? How could you have done such a thing?</p><p>Why didn't you just leave me alone?"</p><p>Now we were walking through the frightful silence of a pine forest.</p><p>The desiccated corpses of cicadas that had died at the end of summer</p><p>littered the surface of the path, crunching beneath our shoes. As if</p><p>searching for something we'd lost, Naoko and I continued slowly</p><p>12</p><p>along the path.</p><p>"I'm sorry," she said, taking my arm and shaking her head.</p><p>"I didn't mean to hurt you. Try not to let what I said bother you.</p><p>Really, I'm sorry. I was just angry at myself."</p><p>"I suppose I don't really understand you yet," I said. "I'm not all that</p><p>smart. It takes me a while to understand things. But if I do have the</p><p>time, I will come to understand you - better than anyone else in the</p><p>world."</p><p>We came to a stop and stood in the silent forest, listening. I tumbled</p><p>pinecones and cicada</p><p>this dashimaki-style fried egg we're eating. I</p><p>bought it with money I was supposed to use for a new bra. For three</p><p>months I had to live with one bra. Can you believe it? I'd wash my bra</p><p>at night, go crazy trying to dry it, and wear it the next day. And if it</p><p>didn't dry right, I had a tragedy to deal with. The saddest thing in the</p><p>world is wearing a damp bra. I'd walk around with tears pouring from</p><p>my eyes. To think I was suffering this for an egg fryer!"</p><p>"I see what you mean," I said with a laugh.</p><p>"I know I shouldn't say this, but actually it was kind of a relief to me</p><p>when my mother died. I could run the family budget my way. I could</p><p>buy what I liked. So now I've got a relatively complete set of cooking</p><p>utensils. My father doesn't know a thing about the budget."</p><p>"When did your mother die?"</p><p>"Two years ago. Cancer. Brain tumour. She was in the hospital a year</p><p>and a half. It was terrible. She suffered from beginning to end. Finally</p><p>lost her mind; had to be doped up all the time, and still she couldn't</p><p>die, though when she did it was practically a mercy killing. It's the</p><p>worst kind of death - the person's in agony, the family goes through</p><p>hell. It took every yen we had. I mean, they'd give her these shots -</p><p>bang, bang, x"20,000 a pop, and she had to have round-the-clock care.</p><p>I was so busy with her, I couldn't study, had to delay university for a</p><p>year. And as if that weren't bad enough - " She stopped in mid-</p><p>sentence, put her chopsticks down and sighed. "How did this</p><p>conversation turn so dark all of a sudden?"</p><p>"It started with the business about the bras," I said.</p><p>"So anyway, eat your eggs and think about what I just told you,”</p><p>Midori said with a solemn expression.</p><p>Eating my portion filled me up, but Midori ate far less. "Cooking ruins</p><p>my appetite," she said. She cleared the table, wiped up the crumbs,</p><p>85</p><p>brought out a box of Marlboro, put one in her mouth and lit up with a</p><p>match. Taking hold of the glass with the daffodils, she studied the</p><p>blooms for a while.</p><p>"I don't think I'll put them in a vase," she said. "If I leave them like</p><p>this, it's like I just happened to pick them by a pond somewhere and</p><p>threw them into the first thing that came to hand."</p><p>"I did pick them by the pond at Otsuka Station," I said.</p><p>She chuckled. "You are a weird one. Making jokes with a perfectly</p><p>straight face."</p><p>Chin in hand, she smoked half her cigarette, then crushed it out in the</p><p>ashtray. She rubbed her eyes as if smoke had got into them.</p><p>"Girls are supposed to be a little more elegant when they put out their</p><p>cigarettes. You did that like a lumberjack. You shouldn't just cram it</p><p>down in the ashtray but press it lightly around the edges of the ash.</p><p>Then it doesn't get all bent up. And girls are never supposed to blow</p><p>smoke through their noses. And most girls wouldn't talk about how</p><p>they wore the same bra for three months when they're eating alone</p><p>with a man."</p><p>"I am a lumberjack," Midori said, scratching next to her nose. "I can</p><p>never manage to be chic. I try it as a joke sometimes, but it never</p><p>sticks. Any more critiques for me?"</p><p>"Girls don't smoke Marlboro," I said.</p><p>"What's the difference? One tastes as bad as another." She turned the</p><p>red Marlboro packet over and over in her hand. "I started smoking last</p><p>month. It's not as if I was dying for tobacco or anything. I just sort of</p><p>felt like it." "Why's that?" I asked.</p><p>She pressed her hands together on the table and thought about it for a</p><p>while. "What's the difference? You don't smoke?" "Stopped in June," I</p><p>said.</p><p>"How come?"</p><p>"It was a pain. I hated running out of smokes in the middle of the</p><p>night. I don't like having something control me that way."</p><p>86</p><p>"You're very clear about what you like and what you don't like," she</p><p>said.</p><p>"Maybe so," I said. "Maybe that's why people don't like me. Never</p><p>have."</p><p>"It's because you show it," she said. "You make it obvious you don't</p><p>care whether people like you or not. That makes some people angry."</p><p>She spoke in a near mumble, chin in hand. "But I like talking to you.</p><p>The way you talk is so unusual. "I don't like having something control</p><p>me that way'."</p><p>I helped her wash the dishes. Standing next to her, I wiped as she</p><p>washed, and stacked everything on the worktop. "So," I said, "your</p><p>family's out today?"</p><p>"My mother's in her grave. She died two years ago." "Yeah, I heard</p><p>that part."</p><p>"My sister's on a date with her fiancé. Probably on a drive. Her</p><p>boyfriend works for some car company. He loves cars. I don't love</p><p>cars."</p><p>Midori stopped talking and washed. I stopped talking and wiped.</p><p>"And then there's my father," she said after some time had gone by.</p><p>"Right," I said.</p><p>"He went off to Uruguay in June last year and he's been there ever</p><p>since."</p><p>"Uruguay?! Why Uruguay?"</p><p>"He was thinking of settling there, believe it or not. An old army</p><p>buddy of his has a farm there. All of a sudden, my father announces</p><p>he's going, too, that there's no limit to what he can do in Uruguay, and</p><p>he gets on a plane and that's that. We tried hard to stop him, like,</p><p>"Why do you want to go to a place like that? You can't speak the</p><p>language, you've hardly ever left Tokyo.' But he wouldn't listen.</p><p>Losing my mother was a real shock to him. I mean, it made him a</p><p>87</p><p>little cuckoo. That's how much he loved her. Really."</p><p>There was not much I could say in reply. I stared at Midori with my</p><p>mouth open.</p><p>"What do you think he said to my sister and me when our mother</p><p>died? "I would much rather have lost the two of you than her.' It</p><p>knocked the wind out of me. I couldn't say a word. You know what I</p><p>mean? You just can't say something like that. OK, he lost the woman</p><p>he loved, his partner for life. I understand the pain, the sadness, the</p><p>heartbreak. I pity him. But you don't tell the daughters you fathered</p><p>"You should have died in her place'. I mean, that's just too terrible.</p><p>Don't you agree?"</p><p>"Yeah, I see your point."</p><p>"That's one wound that will never go away," she said, shaking her</p><p>head. "But anyway, everyone in my family's a little different. We've</p><p>all got something just a little bit strange."</p><p>"So it seems," I said.</p><p>"Still, it is wonderful for two people to love each other, don't you</p><p>think? I mean, for a man to love his wife so much he can tell his</p><p>daughters they should have died in her place</p><p>"Maybe so, now that you put it that way."</p><p>"And then he dumps the two of us and runs off to Uruguay."</p><p>I wiped another dish without replying. After the last one, Midori put</p><p>everything back in the cabinets.</p><p>"So, have you heard from your father?" I asked.</p><p>"One postcard. In March. But what does he write? "It's hot here' or</p><p>"The fruit's not as good as I expected'. Stuff like that. I mean, give me</p><p>a break! One stupid picture of a donkey! He's lost his marbles! He</p><p>didn't even say whether he'd met that guy - that friend of his or</p><p>whatever. He did add near the end that once he's settled he'll send for</p><p>me and my sister, but not a word since then. And he never answers our</p><p>letters."</p><p>"What would you do if your father said "Come to Uruguay'?"</p><p>88</p><p>"I'd go and have a look around at least. It might be fun. My sister says</p><p>she'd absolutely refuse. She can't stand dirty things and dirty places."</p><p>"Is Uruguay dirty?"</p><p>"Who knows? She thinks it is. Like the roads are full of donkey shit</p><p>and it's swarming with flies, and the toilets don't work, and lizards and</p><p>scorpions crawl all over the place. She maybe saw a film like that. She</p><p>can't stand flies, either. All she wants to do is drive through scenic</p><p>places in fancy cars."</p><p>"No way."</p><p>"I mean, what's wrong with Uruguay? I'd go." "So who's running the</p><p>shop?"</p><p>"My sister, but she hates it. We have an uncle in the neighbourhood</p><p>who helps out and makes deliveries. And I help when I have time. A</p><p>bookshop's not exactly hard labour, so we can manage. If it gets to be</p><p>too much, we'll sell the place."</p><p>"Do you like your father?"</p><p>Midori shook her head. "Not especially." "So how can you follow him</p><p>to Uruguay?"</p><p>"I believe in him."</p><p>"Believe in him?"</p><p>"yeah, I'm not that fond of him, but I believe in my father.</p><p>How can I not believe in a man who gives up his house, his kids, his</p><p>work, and runs off to Uruguay from the shock of losing his wife? Do</p><p>you see what I mean?"</p><p>I sighed. "Sort of, but not really."</p><p>Midori laughed and patted me on the back. "Never mind," she said. "It</p><p>really doesn't matter."</p><p>One weird thing after another came up that Sunday afternoon. A fire</p><p>broke out near Midori's house and, when we went up to the third-floor</p><p>laundry deck to watch, we sort of kissed. It sounds stupid when I put it</p><p>like that, but that was how things worked out.</p><p>We were drinking coffee after the meal and talking about the</p><p>89</p><p>university when we heard sirens. They got louder and louder and</p><p>seemed to be increasing in number. Lots of people ran past the shop,</p><p>some of them shouting. Midori went to a room facing the street,</p><p>opened the window and looked down. "Wait here a minute," she said</p><p>and disappeared; after which I heard feet pounding up stairs.</p><p>I sat there drinking coffee alone and trying to remember where</p><p>Uruguay was. Let's see, Brazil was over here, and Venezuela there,</p><p>and Colombia somewhere over here, but I couldn't recall the location</p><p>of Uruguay. A few minutes later Midori came down and urged me to</p><p>hurry somewhere with her. I followed her to the end of the hall and</p><p>climbed a steep, narrow stairway to a wooden deck with bamboo</p><p>laundry poles. The deck was higher than most of the surrounding</p><p>rooftops and gave a good view of the neighbourhood. Huge clouds of</p><p>black smoke shot up from a place three or four houses away and</p><p>flowed with the breeze out towards the high street. A burning smell</p><p>filled the air.</p><p>"It's Sakamoto's place," said Midori, leaning over the railing. "They</p><p>used to make traditional door fittings and stuff. They went out of</p><p>business some time ago, though."</p><p>I leaned over the railing with her and strained to see what was going</p><p>on. A three-storey building blocked our view of the fire, but there</p><p>seemed to be three or four fire engines over there working on the</p><p>blaze. No more than two of them could squeeze into the narrow lane</p><p>where the house was burning, the rest standing by on the high street.</p><p>The usual crowd of gawkers filled the area.</p><p>"Hey, maybe you should gather your valuables together and get ready</p><p>to evacuate this place," I said to Midori. "The wind's blowing the other</p><p>way now, but it could change any time, and you've got a petrol station</p><p>right there. I'll help you pack."</p><p>"What valuables?" said Midori.</p><p>"Well, you must have something you'd want to save - bankbooks,</p><p>seals, legal papers, stuff like that. Emergency cash." "Forget it. I'm not</p><p>90</p><p>running away."</p><p>"Even if this place burns?"</p><p>"You heard me. I don't mind dying."</p><p>I looked her in the eye, and she looked straight at me. I couldn't tell if</p><p>she was serious or joking. We stayed like that for a while, and soon I</p><p>stopped worrying.</p><p>"OK," I said. "I get it. I'll stay with you."</p><p>"You'll die with me?" Midori asked with shining eyes.</p><p>"No way," I said. "I'll run if it gets dangerous. If you want to die, you</p><p>can do it alone."</p><p>"Cold-hearted bastard!"</p><p>"I'm not going to die with you just because you made lunch for me. Of</p><p>course, if it had been dinner. .."</p><p>"Oh, well ... Anyway, let's stay here and watch for a while. We can</p><p>sing songs. And if something bad happens, we can think about it</p><p>then."</p><p>"Sing songs?"</p><p>Midori brought two floor pillows, four cans of beer and a guitar from</p><p>downstairs. We drank and watched the black smoke rising. She</p><p>strummed and sang. I asked her if she didn't think this might anger the</p><p>neighbours. Drinking beer and singing while you watched a local fire</p><p>from the laundry deck didn't seem like the most admirable behaviour I</p><p>could think of.</p><p>"Forget it," she said. "We never worry about what the neighbours</p><p>might think."</p><p>She sang some of the folk songs she had played with her group. I</p><p>would have been hard pressed to say she was good, but she did seem</p><p>to enjoy her own music. She went through all the old standards -</p><p>"Lemon Tree", "Puff (The Magic Dragon)", "Five Hundred Miles",</p><p>"Where Have All the Flowers Gone?", "Michael, Row the Boat</p><p>Ashore". At first she tried to get me to sing bass harmony, but I was so</p><p>bad she gave up and sang alone to her heart's content. I worked on my</p><p>91</p><p>beer and listened to her sing and kept an eye on the fire. It flared up</p><p>and died down several times. People were yelling and giving orders. A</p><p>newspaper helicopter clattered overhead, took photographs and flew</p><p>away. I worried that we might be in the picture. A policeman</p><p>screamed through a loudspeaker for bystanders to get back. A little kid</p><p>was crying for his mother. Glass shattered somewhere. Before long</p><p>the wind began shifting unpredictably, and white ash flakes fell out of</p><p>the air around us, but Midori went on sipping and singing. After she</p><p>had gone through most of the songs she knew, she sang an odd one</p><p>that she said she had written herself:</p><p>I'd love to cook a stew for you,</p><p>But I have no pot.</p><p>I'd love to knit a scarf for you,</p><p>But I have no wool.</p><p>I'd love to write a poem for you,</p><p>But I have no pen.</p><p>"It's called "I Have Nothing'," Midori announced. It was a truly</p><p>terrible song, both words and music.</p><p>I listened to this musical mess thinking that the house would blow</p><p>apart in the explosion if the petrol station caught fire. Tired of singing,</p><p>Midori put down her guitar and slumped against my shoulder like a</p><p>cat in the sun.</p><p>"How did you like my song?" she asked.</p><p>I answered cautiously, "It was unique and original and very expressive</p><p>of your personality."</p><p>"Thanks," she said. "The theme is that I have nothing." "Yeah, I kind</p><p>of thought so."</p><p>"You know," she said, "when my mother died. .." "Yeah?"</p><p>"I didn't feel the least bit sad."</p><p>"Oh."</p><p>"And I didn't feel sad when my father left, either." "Really?"</p><p>92</p><p>"It's true. Don't you think I'm terrible? Cold-hearted?" "I'm sure you</p><p>have your reasons."</p><p>"My reasons. Hmm. Things were pretty complicated in this house. But</p><p>I always thought, I mean, they're my mother and father, of course I'd</p><p>be sad if they died or I never saw them again. But it didn't happen that</p><p>way. I didn't feel anything. Not sad, not lonely. I hardly even think of</p><p>them. Sometimes I'll have dreams, though. Sometimes my mother will</p><p>be glaring at me out of the darkness and she'll accuse me of being</p><p>happy she died. But I'm not happy she died. I'm just not very sad. And</p><p>to tell the truth, I never shed a single tear. I cried all night when my</p><p>cat died, though, when I was little."</p><p>Why so much smoke? I wondered. I couldn't see flames, and the</p><p>burning area didn't seem to be spreading. There was just this column</p><p>of smoke winding up into the sky. What could have kept burning so</p><p>long?</p><p>"But I'm not the only one to blame," Midori continued. "It's true I have</p><p>a cold streak. I recognize that. But if they - my father and mother - had</p><p>loved me a little more, I would have been able to feel more - to feel</p><p>real sadness, for example."</p><p>"Do you think you weren't loved enough?"</p><p>She tilted her head and looked at me. Then she gave a sharp, little nod.</p><p>"Somewhere between "not enough' and "not at all'. I was always</p><p>hungry for love. Just once, I wanted to know what it was like to get</p><p>my fill of it - to be fed so much love I couldn't take any more. Just</p><p>once. But they never gave that to me. Never, not once. If I tried to</p><p>cuddle up and beg for something, they'd just shove me away and yell</p><p>at me. "No! That costs too much!' It's all I ever heard. So I made up</p><p>my mind I was going to find someone who would love me uncon-</p><p>ditionally 365 days a year. I was still in primary school at the time, but</p><p>I made up my mind once and for all."</p><p>"Wow," I said. "And did your search pay off?"</p><p>"That's the hard part," said Midori. She watched the rising smoke for a</p><p>93</p><p>while, thinking. "I guess I've been waiting so long I'm looking for</p><p>perfection. That makes it tough."</p><p>"Waiting for the perfect</p><p>love?"</p><p>"No, even I know better than that. I'm looking for selfishness. Perfect</p><p>selfishness. Like, say I tell you I want to eat strawberry shortbread.</p><p>And you stop everything you're doing and run out and buy it for me.</p><p>And you come back out of breath and get down on your knees and</p><p>hold this strawberry shortbread out to me. And I say I don't want it</p><p>any more and throw it out of the window. That's what I'm looking</p><p>for."</p><p>"I'm not sure that has anything to do with love," I said with some</p><p>amazement.</p><p>"It does," she said. "You just don't know it. There are times in a girl's</p><p>life when things like that are incredibly important."</p><p>"Things like throwing strawberry shortbread out of the window?"</p><p>"Exactly. And when I do it, I want the man to apologize to me. "Now I</p><p>see, Midori. What a fool I've been! I should have known that you</p><p>would lose your desire for strawberry shortbread. I have all the</p><p>intelligence and sensitivity of a piece of donkey shit. To make it up to</p><p>you, I'll go out and buy you something else. What would you like?</p><p>Chocolate mousse? Cheesecake?"'</p><p>"So then what?"</p><p>"So then I'd give him all the love he deserves for what he's done."</p><p>"Sounds crazy to me."</p><p>"Well, to me, that's what love is. Not that anyone can understand me,</p><p>though." Midori gave her head a little shake against my shoulder. "For</p><p>a certain kind of person, love begins from something tiny or silly.</p><p>From something like that or it doesn't begin at all."</p><p>"I've never met a girl who thinks like you."</p><p>"A lot of people tell me that," she said, digging at a cuticle. "But it's</p><p>the only way I know how to think. Seriously. I'm just telling you what</p><p>I believe. It's never crossed my mind that my way of thinking is</p><p>94</p><p>different from other people's. I'm not trying to be different. But when I</p><p>speak out honestly, everybody thinks I'm kidding or play-acting.</p><p>When that happens, I feel like everything's such a pain!"</p><p>"And you want to let yourself die in a fire?"</p><p>"Hey, no, that's different. It's just a matter of curiosity."</p><p>"What? Dying in a fire?"</p><p>"No, I just wanted to see how you'd react," Midori said. "But, I'm not</p><p>afraid of dying. Really. Like here, I'd just be overcome with smoke</p><p>and lose consciousness and die before I knew it. That doesn't frighten</p><p>me at all, compared to the way I saw my mother and a few relatives</p><p>die. All my relatives die after suffering from some terrible illness. It's</p><p>in the blood, I guess. It's always a long, long process, and at the end</p><p>you almost can't tell whether the person is alive or dead. All that's left</p><p>is pain and suffering."</p><p>Midori put a Marlboro between her lips and lit it.</p><p>"That's the kind of death that frightens me. The shadow of death</p><p>slowly, slowly eats away at the region of life, and before you know it</p><p>everything's dark and you can't see, and the people around you think</p><p>of you as more dead than alive. I hate that. I couldn't stand it."</p><p>Another half hour and the fire was out. They had apparently kept it</p><p>from spreading and prevented any injuries. All but one of the fire</p><p>engines returned to base, and the crowd dispersed, buzzing with</p><p>conversation. One police car remained to direct the traffic, its blue</p><p>light spinning. Two crows had settled on nearby lamp-posts to observe</p><p>the activity below.</p><p>Midori seemed drained of energy. Limp, she stared at the sky and</p><p>barely spoke.</p><p>"Tired?" I asked.</p><p>"Not really," she said. "I just sort of let myself go limp and spaced out.</p><p>First time in a long time."</p><p>95</p><p>She looked into my eyes, and I into hers. I put my arm around her and</p><p>kissed her. The slightest twinge went through her shoulders, and then</p><p>she relaxed and closed her eyes for several seconds. The early autumn</p><p>sun cast the shadow of her lashes on her cheek, and I could see it</p><p>trembling in outline.</p><p>It was a soft and gentle kiss, one not meant to lead beyond itself. I</p><p>would probably not have kissed Midori that day if we hadn't spent the</p><p>afternoon on the laundry deck in the sun, drinking beer and watching a</p><p>fire, and she no doubt felt the same. After a long time of watching the</p><p>glittering rooftops and the smoke and the red dragonflies and other</p><p>things, we had felt something warm and close, and we both probably</p><p>wanted, half-consciously, to preserve that mood in some form. It was</p><p>that kind of kiss. But as with all kisses, it was not without a certain</p><p>element of danger.</p><p>The first to speak was Midori. She held my hand and told me, with</p><p>what seemed like some difficulty, that she was seeing someone. I said</p><p>that I had sensed as much.</p><p>"Do you have a girl you like?" she asked.</p><p>"I do," I said.</p><p>"But you're always free on Sundays, right?" "It's very complicated," I</p><p>said.</p><p>And then I realized that the brief spell of the early autumn afternoon</p><p>had vanished.</p><p>At five I said I had to go to work and suggested that Midori come with</p><p>me for a snack. She said she had to stay home in case the phone rang.</p><p>"I hate waiting at home all day for a call. When I spend the day alone,</p><p>I feel as if my flesh is rotting little by little - rotting and melting until</p><p>there's nothing left but a green puddle that gets sucked down into the</p><p>earth. And all that stays behind are my clothes. That's how it feels to</p><p>me, waiting indoors all day." "I'll keep you company next time you</p><p>have to wait for a</p><p>96</p><p>call," I said. 'As long as lunch is included."</p><p>"Great," she said. "I'll arrange another fire for dessert."</p><p>Midori didn't come to the next day's History of Drama lecture. I went</p><p>to the cafeteria afterwards and ate a cold, tasteless lunch alone. Then I</p><p>sat in the sun and observed the campus scene. Two women students</p><p>next to me were carrying on a long conversation, standing the whole</p><p>time. One cradled a tennis racquet to her breast with all the loving care</p><p>she might give a baby, while the other held some books and a Leonard</p><p>Bernstein LP Both were pretty and obviously enjoying their</p><p>discussion. From the direction of the student club building came the</p><p>sound of a bass voice practising scales. Here and there stood groups of</p><p>four or five students expressing whatever opinions they happened to</p><p>hold, laughing and shouting to one another. There were skateboarders</p><p>in the car park. A professor with a leather briefcase in his arms</p><p>crossed the car park, avoiding them. In the quadrangle a helmeted girl</p><p>student knelt on the ground, painting huge characters on a sign with</p><p>something about American imperialism invading Asia. It was the</p><p>usual midday university scene, but as I sat watching it with renewed</p><p>attention, I became aware of something. In his or her own way,</p><p>everyone I saw before me looked happy. Whether they were really</p><p>happy or just looked it, I couldn't tell. But they did look happy on this</p><p>pleasant early afternoon in late September, and because of that I felt a</p><p>kind of loneliness new to me, as if I were the only one here who was</p><p>not truly part of the scene.</p><p>Come to think of it, what scene had I been a part of in recent years?</p><p>The last one I could remember was a pool hall near the harbour, where</p><p>Kizuki and I played pool together in a spirit of total friendship. Kizuki</p><p>died that night, and ever since a cold, stiffening wind had come</p><p>between me and the world. This boy Kizuki: what had his existence</p><p>meant to me? To this question I could find no answer. All I knew -</p><p>with absolute certainty - was that Kizuki's death had robbed me for</p><p>97</p><p>ever of some part of my adolescence. But what that meant, and what</p><p>would come of it, were far beyond my understanding.</p><p>I sat there for a long time, watching the campus and the people</p><p>passing through it, and hoping, too, that I might see Midori. But she</p><p>never appeared, and when the noon break ended, I went to the library</p><p>to prepare for my German class.</p><p>Nagasawa came to my room that Saturday afternoon and suggested we</p><p>have one of our nights on the town. He would arrange an overnight</p><p>pass for me. I said I would go. I had been feeling especially muddle-</p><p>headed for the past week and was ready to sleep with anybody, it</p><p>didn't matter who.</p><p>Late in the afternoon I showered and shaved and put on fresh clothes -</p><p>a polo shirt and cotton jacket - then had dinner with Nagasawa in the</p><p>dining hall and the two of us caught a bus to Shinjuku. We walked</p><p>around a lively area for a while, then went to one of our usual bars and</p><p>sat there waiting for a likely pair of girls. The girls tended to come in</p><p>pairs to this bar - except on this particular evening. We stayed there</p><p>almost two hours, sipping whisky and sodas at a rate that kept us</p><p>sober. Finally, two friendly-looking girls took seats at the bar,</p><p>ordering a gimlet and a margarita. Nagasawa approached them straight</p><p>away, but they said they were waiting for their boyfriends. Still, the</p><p>four of us enjoyed a pleasant chat until their dates showed up.</p><p>Nagasawa took me to another bar to try our luck, a small</p><p>place in a kind of cul-de-sac, where most of the customers were</p><p>already drunk and noisy. A group of three girls occupied a table at the</p><p>back. We joined them and enjoyed a little conversation, the five of us</p><p>getting into a nice mood, but when Nagasawa suggested we go</p><p>somewhere else for a drink, the girls said it was almost curfew time</p><p>and they had to go back to their dorms. So much for our "luck". We</p><p>tried one more place with the same result. For some reason, the girls</p><p>were just not coming our way.</p><p>98</p><p>At 11.30 Nagasawa was ready to give up. "Sorry I dragged you around</p><p>for nothing," he said.</p><p>"No problem," I said. "It was worth it to me just to see you have your</p><p>off days sometimes, too."</p><p>"Maybe once a year," he admitted.</p><p>In fact, I didn't care about getting laid any more. Wandering around</p><p>Shinjuku on a noisy Saturday night, observing the mysterious energy</p><p>created by a mixture of sex and alcohol, I began to feel that my own</p><p>desire was a puny thing.</p><p>"What are you going to do now, Watanabe?"</p><p>"Maybe go to an all-nighter," I said. "I haven't seen a film in ages."</p><p>"I'll be going to Hatsumi's then," said Nagasawa. "Do you mind?"</p><p>"No way," I said. "Why should I mind?"</p><p>"If you'd like, I could introduce you to a girl who'd let you spend the</p><p>night."</p><p>"Nah, I really am in the mood for a film."</p><p>"Sorry," said Nagasawa. "I'll make it up to you some time." And he</p><p>disappeared into the crowd. I went into a fast food place for a</p><p>cheeseburger and some coffee to kill the buzz, then went to see The</p><p>Graduate in an old rep house. I didn't think it was all that good, but I</p><p>didn't have anything better to do, so I stayed and watched it again.</p><p>Emerging from the cinema at four in the morning, I wandered along</p><p>the chilly streets of Shinjuku, thinking.</p><p>When I tired of walking, I went to an all-night café and waited with a</p><p>book and a cup of coffee for the morning trains to start. Before long,</p><p>the place became crowded with people who, like me, were waiting for</p><p>those first trains. A waiter came to ask me apologetically if I would</p><p>mind sharing my table. I said it would be all right. It didn't matter to</p><p>me who sat across from me: I was just reading a book.</p><p>My companions at the table turned out to be two girls. They looked</p><p>about my age. Neither of them was a knockout, but they weren't bad.</p><p>Both were reserved in the way they dressed and made up: they were</p><p>99</p><p>definitely not the type to be wandering around Shinjuku at five in the</p><p>morning. I guessed they had just happened to miss the last train. They</p><p>seemed relieved to sit with me: I was neatly dressed, had shaved in the</p><p>evening, and to cap it all I was absorbed in Thomas Mann's The Magic</p><p>Mountain.</p><p>One of the girls was on the large side. She wore a grey parka and</p><p>white jeans, carried a large vinyl pocketbook, and had large, shell-</p><p>shaped earrings. Her friend was a small girl with glasses. She wore a</p><p>blue cardigan over a checked shirt and had a turquoise ring. The</p><p>smaller one had a habit of taking off her glasses and pressing her eyes</p><p>with her fingertips.</p><p>Both girls ordered cafe au lait and cake, which it took them some time</p><p>to consume as they carried on what seemed like a serious discussion in</p><p>hushed tones. The large girl tilted her head several times, while the</p><p>small one shook hers just as often. I couldn't make out what they were</p><p>saying because of the loud stereo playing Marvin Gaye or the Bee</p><p>Gees or something, but it seemed the small girl was angry or upset and</p><p>the large girl was trying to comfort her. I alternated passages of my</p><p>book with glances in their direction.</p><p>Clutching her shoulder bag to her breast, the smaller girl went to the</p><p>ladies', at which point her companion spoke to me.</p><p>"I'm sorry to bother you, but I wonder if you might know of ally bars</p><p>in the neighbourhood that would still be serving drinks?"</p><p>Taken off guard, I set my book aside and asked, "After five o'clock in</p><p>the morning?"</p><p>"Yes ... "If you ask me, at 5.20 in the morning, most people are on</p><p>their way home to get sober and go to bed."</p><p>"Yes, I realize that," she said, a bit embarrassed, "but my friend says</p><p>she has to have a drink. It's kind of important."</p><p>"There's probably nothing much you can do but go home and have a</p><p>drink."</p><p>"But I have to catch a 7.30 train to Nagano."</p><p>100</p><p>"So find a vending machine and a nice place to sit. It's about all you</p><p>can do."</p><p>"I know this is asking a lot, but could you come with us? Two girls</p><p>alone really can't do something like that."</p><p>I had had a number of unusual experiences in Shinjuku, but I had</p><p>never before been invited to have a drink with two strange girls at 5.20</p><p>in the morning. Refusing would have been more trouble than it was</p><p>worth, and time was no problem, so I bought an armload of sake and</p><p>snacks from a nearby machine, and the three of us went to an empty</p><p>car park by the west exit of the station to hold an impromptu drinking</p><p>party.</p><p>The girls told me they had become friends working at a travel agency.</p><p>Both of them had graduated from college this year and started their</p><p>first jobs. The small one had a boyfriend she had been seeing for a</p><p>year, but had recently discovered he was sleeping with another girl</p><p>and she had taken it hard. The larger one was supposed to have left for</p><p>the mountains of Nagano last night for her brother's wedding, but she</p><p>had decided to spend the night with her depressed friend and take the</p><p>first express on Sunday morning.</p><p>"It's too bad what you're going through," I said to the small one, "but</p><p>how did you find out your boyfriend was sleeping with someone</p><p>else?"</p><p>Taking little sips of sake, the girl tore at some weeds underfoot. "I</p><p>didn't have to work anything out," she said. "I opened his door, and</p><p>there he was, doing it."</p><p>"When was that?"</p><p>"The night before last."</p><p>"No way. The door was unlocked?"</p><p>"Right."</p><p>"I wonder why he didn't lock it?"</p><p>"How the hell should I know?"</p><p>"Yeah, how's she supposed to feel?" said the larger one, who seemed</p><p>101</p><p>truly concerned for her friend. "What a shock it must have been for</p><p>her. Don't you think it's terrible?"</p><p>"I really can't say," I answered. "You ought to have a good talk with</p><p>your boyfriend. Then it's a question of whether you forgive him or</p><p>not."</p><p>"Nobody knows how I feel," spat out the little one, still tearing grass.</p><p>A flock of crows appeared from the west and sailed over a big</p><p>department store. It was daylight now. The time for the train to</p><p>Nagano was approaching, so we gave what was left of the sake to a</p><p>homeless guy downstairs at the west exit, bought platform tickets and</p><p>went in to see the big girl off. After the train pulled out of sight, the</p><p>small girl and I somehow ended up going to a nearby hotel. Neither of</p><p>us was particularly dying to sleep with the other, but it seemed</p><p>necessary to bring things to a close.</p><p>I undressed first and sat in the bath drinking beer with a vengeance.</p><p>She got in with me and did the same, the two of us stretched out and</p><p>guzzling beer in silence. We couldn't seem to get drunk, though, and</p><p>neither of us was sleepy. Her skin was very fair and smooth, and she</p><p>had beautiful legs. I complimented her on her legs, but her "Thanks"</p><p>was little more than a grunt.</p><p>Once we were in bed, though, she was like a different person. She</p><p>responded to the slightest touch of my hands, writhing and moaning.</p><p>When I went inside her, she dug her nails into my back, and as her</p><p>orgasm approached she called out another man's name exactly 16</p><p>times. I concentrated on counting them as a way to delay my own</p><p>orgasm. Then the two of us fell asleep.</p><p>She was gone when I woke at 12.30. I found no note of any kind. One</p><p>side of my head felt strangely heavy from having drunk at an odd</p><p>hour. I took a shower to wake myself, shaved and sat in a chair, naked,</p><p>drinking a bottle of juice from the fridge and reviewing in order the</p><p>events of the night before. Each scene felt unreal and strangely distant,</p><p>as though I were viewing it through two or three layers of glass, but</p><p>102</p><p>the events had undoubtedly happened to me. The beer glasses were</p><p>still sitting on the table, and a used toothbrush lay by the sink.</p><p>I ate a light lunch in Shinjuku and went to a telephone box to call</p><p>Midori Kobayashi on the off chance that she might be home alone</p><p>waiting for a call again today. I let it ring 15 times but no one</p><p>answered. I tried again 20 minutes later with the same results. Then I</p><p>took a bus back to the dorm. A special delivery letter was waiting for</p><p>me in the letterbox by the entry. It was from Naoko.</p><p>Thanks for your letter, wrote Naoko. Her family had forwarded it</p><p>here, she said. Far from upsetting her, its arrival had made her very</p><p>happy, and in fact she had been on the point of writing to me herself.</p><p>Having read that much, I opened the window, took off my jacket and</p><p>sat on the bed. I could hear pigeons cooing in a nearby roost. The</p><p>breeze stirred the curtains. Holding the seven pages of writing paper</p><p>from Naoko, I gave myself up to an endless stream of feelings. It</p><p>seemed as if the colours of the real world around me had begun to</p><p>drain away from my having done nothing more than read a few lines</p><p>she had written. I closed my eyes and spent a long time collecting my</p><p>thoughts. Finally, after one deep breath, I continued reading.</p><p>It's almost four months since I came here, she went on.</p><p>I've thought a lot about you in that time. The more I've thought, the</p><p>more I've come to feel that I was unfair to you. I probably should have</p><p>been a better, fairer person when it came to the way I treated you.</p><p>This may not be the most normal way to look at things, though. Girls</p><p>my age never use the word "fair". Ordinary girls as young as I am are</p><p>basically indifferent to whether things are fair or not. The central</p><p>103</p><p>question for them is not whether something is fair but whether or not</p><p>it's beautiful or will make them happy. "Fair" is a man's word, finally,</p><p>but I can't help feeling that it is also exactly the right word for me</p><p>now. And because questions of beauty and happiness have become</p><p>such difficult and convoluted propositions for me now, I suspect, I</p><p>find myself clinging instead to other standards - like, whether or not</p><p>something is fair or honest or universally true.</p><p>In any case, though, I believe that I have not been fair to you and that,</p><p>as a result, I must have led you around in circles and hurt you deeply.</p><p>In doing so, however, I have led myself around in circles and hurt</p><p>myself just as deeply. I say this not as an excuse or a means of self-</p><p>justification but because it is true. If I have left a wound inside you, it</p><p>is not just your wound but mine as well. So please try not to hate me. I</p><p>am a flawed human being - a far more flawed human being than you</p><p>realize. Which is precisely why I do not want you to hate me. Because</p><p>if you were to do that, I would really go to pieces. I can't do what you</p><p>can do: I can't slip inside my shell and wait for things to pass. I don't</p><p>know for a fact that you are really like that, but sometimes you give</p><p>me that impression. I often envy that in you, which may be why I led</p><p>you around in circles so much.</p><p>This may be an over-analytical way of looking at things. Don't you</p><p>agree? The therapy they perform here is certainly not over-analytical,</p><p>but when you are under treatment for several months the way I am</p><p>here, like it or not, you become more or less analytical. "This was</p><p>caused by that, and that means this, because of which such-and-such."</p><p>Like that. I can't tell whether this kind of analysis is trying to simplify</p><p>the world or complicate it.</p><p>In any case, I myself feel that I am far closer to recovery than I once</p><p>was, and people here tell me this is true. This is the first time in a long</p><p>while I have been able to sit down and calmly write a letter. The one I</p><p>wrote you in July was something I had to squeeze out of me (though,</p><p>to tell the truth, I don't remember what I wrote - was it terrible?), but</p><p>104</p><p>this time I am very, very calm. Clean air, a quiet world cut off from</p><p>the outside, a daily schedule for living, regular exercise: those are</p><p>what I needed, it seems. How wonderful it is to be able to write</p><p>someone a letter! To feel like conveying your thoughts to a person, to</p><p>sit at your desk and pick up a pen, to put your thoughts into words like</p><p>this is truly marvellous. Of course, once I do put them into words, I</p><p>find I can only express a fraction of what I want to say, but that's all</p><p>right. I'm happy just to be able to feel I want to write to someone. And</p><p>so I am writing to you. It's 7.30 in the evening, I've had my dinner and</p><p>I've just finished my bath. The place is silent, and it's pitch black</p><p>outside. I can't see a single light through the window. I usually have a</p><p>clear view of the stars from here, but not today, with the clouds.</p><p>Everyone here knows a lot about the stars, and they tell me "That's</p><p>Virgo" or "That's Sagittarius". They probably learn whether they want</p><p>to or not because there's nothing to do here once the sun goes down.</p><p>Which is also why they know so much about birds and flowers and</p><p>insects. Speaking to them, I realize how ignorant I was about such</p><p>things, which is kind of nice.</p><p>There are about 70 people living here. In addition, the staff (doctors,</p><p>nurses, office staff, etc.) come to just over 20. It's such a wide-open</p><p>place, these are not big numbers at all. Far from it: it might be more</p><p>accurate to say the place is on the empty side. It's big and filled with</p><p>nature and everybody lives quietly - so quietly you sometimes feel</p><p>that this is the normal, real world, which of course it's not. We can</p><p>have it this way because we live here under certain preconditions.</p><p>I play tennis and basketball. Basketball teams are made up of both</p><p>staff and (I hate the word, but there's no way around it) patients. When</p><p>I'm absorbed in a game, though, I lose track of who are the patients</p><p>and who are staff. This is kind of strange. I know this will sound</p><p>strange, but when I look at the people around me during a game, they</p><p>all look equally deformed.</p><p>I said this one day to the doctor in charge of my case, and he told me</p><p>105</p><p>that, in a sense, what I was feeling was right, that we are in here not to</p><p>correct the deformation but to accustom ourselves to it: that one of our</p><p>problems was our inability to recognize and accept our own</p><p>deformities. Just as each person has certain idiosyncrasies in the way</p><p>he or she walks, people have idiosyncrasies in the way they think and</p><p>feel and see things, and though you might want to correct them, it</p><p>doesn't happen overnight, and if you try to force the issue in one case,</p><p>something else might go funny. He gave me a very simplified</p><p>explanation, of course, and it's just one small part of the problems we</p><p>have, but I think I understand what he was trying to say. It may well</p><p>be that we can never fully adapt to our own deformities. Unable to</p><p>find a place inside ourselves for the very real pain and suffering that</p><p>these deformities cause, we come here to get away from such things.</p><p>As long as we are here, we can get by without hurting others or being</p><p>hurt by them because we know that we are "deformed".</p><p>That's what</p><p>distinguishes us from the outside world: most people go about their</p><p>lives unconscious of their deformities, while in this little world of ours</p><p>the deformities themselves are a precondition. Just as Indians wear</p><p>feathers on their heads to show what tribe they belong to, we wear our</p><p>deformities in the open. And we live quietly so as not to hurt one</p><p>another.</p><p>In addition to playing sports, we all participate in growing vegetables:</p><p>tomatoes, aubergines, cucumbers, watermelons, strawberries, spring</p><p>onions, cabbage, daikon radishes, and so on and on. We grow just</p><p>about everything. We use greenhouses, too. The people here know a</p><p>lot about vegetable farming, and they put a lot of energy into it. They</p><p>read books on the subject and call in experts and talk from morning to</p><p>night about which fertilizer to use and the condition of the soil and</p><p>stuff like that. I have come to love growing vegetables. It's great to</p><p>watch different fruits and vegetables getting bigger and bigger each</p><p>day. Have you ever grown watermelons? They swell up, just like</p><p>some kind of little animals.</p><p>106</p><p>We eat freshly picked fruits and vegetables every day. They also serve</p><p>meat and fish of course, but when you're living here you feel less and</p><p>less like eating those because the vegetables are so fresh and</p><p>delicious. Sometimes we go out and gather wild plants and</p><p>mushrooms. We have experts on that kind of thing (come to think of</p><p>it, this place is crawling with experts) who tell us which plants to pick</p><p>and which to avoid. As a result of all this, I've gained over six pounds</p><p>since I got here. My weight is just about perfect, thanks to the exercise</p><p>and the good eating on a regular schedule.</p><p>When we're not farming, we read or listen to music or knit. We don't</p><p>have TV or radio, but we do have a very decent library with books and</p><p>records. The record collection has everything from Mahler</p><p>symphonies to the Beatles, and I'm always borrowing records to listen</p><p>to in my room.</p><p>The one real problem with this place is that once you're here you don't</p><p>want to leave - or you're afraid to leave. As long as we're here, we feel</p><p>calm and peaceful. Our deformities seem natural. We think we've</p><p>recovered. But we can never be sure that the outside world will accept</p><p>us in the same way.</p><p>My doctor says it's time I began having contact with "outside people"</p><p>- meaning normal people in the normal world. When he says that, the</p><p>only face I see is yours. To tell the truth, I don't want to see my</p><p>parents. They're too upset over me, and seeing them puts me in a bad</p><p>mood. Plus, there are things I have to explain to you. I'm not sure I</p><p>can explain them very well, but they're important things I can't go on</p><p>avoiding any longer.</p><p>Still, you shouldn't feel that I'm a burden to you. The one thing I don't</p><p>want to be is a burden to anyone. I can sense the good feelings you</p><p>have for me. They make me very happy. All I am doing in this letter is</p><p>trying to convey that happiness to you. Those good feelings of yours</p><p>are probably just what I need at this point in my life. Please forgive</p><p>me if anything I've written here upsets you. As I said before, I am a far</p><p>107</p><p>more flawed human being than you realize.</p><p>I sometimes wonder: IF you and I had met under absolutely ordinary</p><p>circumstances, and IF we had liked each other, what would have</p><p>happened? IF I had been normal and you had been normal (which, of</p><p>course, you are) and there had been no Kizuki, what would have</p><p>happened? Of course, this "IF" is way too big. I'm trying hard at least</p><p>to be fair and honest. It's all I can do at this point. I hope to convey</p><p>some small part of my feelings to you this way.</p><p>Unlike an ordinary hospital, this place has free visiting hours. As long</p><p>as you call the day before, you can come any time. You can even eat</p><p>with me, and there's a place for you to stay. Please come and see me</p><p>sometime when it's convenient for you. I look forward to seeing you.</p><p>I'm enclosing a map. Sorry this turned into such a long letter.</p><p>I read Naoko's letter all the way through, and then I read it again.</p><p>After that I went downstairs, bought a Coke from the vending</p><p>machine, and drank it while reading the letter one more time. I put the</p><p>seven pages of writing paper back into the envelope and laid it on my</p><p>desk. My name and address had been written on the pink envelope in</p><p>perfect, tiny characters that were just a bit too precisely formed for</p><p>those of a girl. I sat at my desk, studying the envelope. The return</p><p>address on the back said Ami Hostel. An odd name. I thought about it</p><p>for a</p><p>few minutes, concluding that the "ami" must be from the French word</p><p>for "friend".</p><p>After putting the letter away in my desk drawer, I changed clothes and</p><p>went out. I was afraid that if I stayed near the letter I would end up</p><p>reading it 10, 20, who knew how many times? I walked the streets of</p><p>Tokyo on Sunday without a destination in mind, as I had always done</p><p>with Naoko. I wandered from one street to the next, recalling her letter</p><p>line by line and mulling each sentence over as best I could. When the</p><p>sun went down, I returned to the dorm and made a long-distance call</p><p>108</p><p>to the Ami Hostel. A woman receptionist answered and asked my</p><p>business. I asked if it might be possible for me to visit Naoko the</p><p>following afternoon. I left my name and she said I should call back in</p><p>half an hour.</p><p>The same woman answered when I called back after dinner. It would</p><p>indeed be possible for me to see Naoko, she said. I thanked her, hung</p><p>up, and put a change of clothes and a few toiletries in my rucksack.</p><p>Then I picked up The Magic Mountain again, reading and sipping</p><p>brandy and waiting to get sleepy. Even so, I didn't fall asleep until</p><p>after one o'clock in the morning.</p><p>109</p><p>As soon as I woke at seven o'clock on Monday morning, I washed my</p><p>face, shaved, and went straight to the dorm Head's room without</p><p>eating breakfast to say that I was going to be gone for two days hiking</p><p>in the hills. He was used to my taking short trips when I had free time,</p><p>and reacted without surprise. I took a crowded commuter train to</p><p>Tokyo Station and bought a bullet-train ticket to Kyoto, literally</p><p>jumping onto the first Hikari express to pull out. I made do with</p><p>coffee and a sandwich for breakfast and dozed for an hour.</p><p>I arrived in Kyoto a few minutes before eleven. Following Naoko's</p><p>instructions, I took a city bus to a small terminal serving the northern</p><p>suburbs. The next bus to my destination would not be leaving until</p><p>11.35, I was told, and the trip would take a little over an hour. I</p><p>bought a ticket and went to a bookshop across the street for a map.</p><p>Back in the waiting room, I studied the map to see if I could find</p><p>exactly where the Ami Hostel was located. It turned out to be much</p><p>farther into the mountains than I had imagined. The bus would have to</p><p>cross several hills in its trek north, then turn around where the canyon</p><p>road dead-ended and return to the city. My stop would be just before</p><p>the end of the line. There was a footpath near the bus stop, according</p><p>to Naoko, and if I followed it for 20 minutes I would reach Ami</p><p>Hostel. No</p><p>wonder it was such a quiet place, if it was that deep in the mountains!</p><p>The bus pulled out with about 20 passengers aboard, following the</p><p>Kamo River through the north end of Kyoto. The tightly packed city</p><p>streets gave way to more sparse housing, then fields and vacant land.</p><p>Black tile roofs and vinyl-sided greenhouses caught the early autumn</p><p>sun and sent it back with a glare. When the bus entered the canyon,</p><p>the driver began hauling the steering wheel this way and that to follow</p><p>the twists and curves of the road, and I began to feel queasy. I could</p><p>110</p><p>still taste my morning coffee. By the time the number of curves began</p><p>to decrease to the point where I felt some relief, the bus plunged into a</p><p>chilling cedar forest. The trees might have been old growth the way</p><p>they towered over the road, blocking out the sun and covering</p><p>everything in gloomy shadows. The breeze flowing into the bus's open</p><p>windows turned suddenly cold, its dampness sharp against the skin.</p><p>The valley road hugged the river bank, continuing so long through the</p><p>trees it began to seem as if the whole world had been buried for ever</p><p>in cedar forest - at which point the forest ended, and we came to an</p><p>open basin surrounded by mountain peaks. Broad, green farmland</p><p>spread out in all directions, and the river by the road looked bright and</p><p>clear. A single thread of white smoke rose in the distance. Some</p><p>houses had laundry drying in the sun, and dogs were howling. Each</p><p>farmhouse had firewood out front piled up to the eaves, usually with a</p><p>cat resting somewhere on the pile. The road was lined with such</p><p>houses for a time, but I saw not a single person.</p><p>The scenery repeated this pattern any number of times. The bus would</p><p>enter cedar forest, come out to a village, then go back into forest. It</p><p>would stop at a village to let people off, but no one ever got on. Forty</p><p>minutes after leaving the city, the bus reached a mountain pass with a</p><p>wide-open view. The driver stopped the bus and announced that we</p><p>would be waiting there for five or six minutes: people could step down</p><p>from the bus if they wished. There were only four passengers left now,</p><p>including me. We all got out and stretched or smoked and looked</p><p>down at the panorama of Kyoto far below. The driver went off to one</p><p>side for a pee. A suntanned man in his early fifties who had boarded</p><p>the bus with a big, rope-tied cardboard carton asked me if I was going</p><p>out to hike in the mountains. I said yes to keep things simple.</p><p>Eventually another bus came climbing up from the other side of the</p><p>pass and stopped next to ours. The driver got out, had a short talk with</p><p>our driver, and the two men climbed back into their buses. The four of</p><p>us returned to our seats, and the buses pulled out in opposite</p><p>111</p><p>directions. It was not immediately clear to me why our bus had had to</p><p>wait for the other one, but a short way down the other side of the</p><p>mountain the road narrowed suddenly. Two big buses could never</p><p>have passed each other on the road, and in fact passing ordinary cars</p><p>coming in the other direction required a good deal of manoeuvring,</p><p>with one or the other vehicle having to back up and squeeze into the</p><p>overhang of a curve.</p><p>The villages along the road were far smaller now, and the level areas</p><p>under cultivation even narrower. The mountain was steeper, its walls</p><p>pressed closer to the bus windows. They seemed to have just as many</p><p>dogs as the other places, though, and the arrival of the bus would set</p><p>off a howling competition.</p><p>At the stop where I got off, there was nothing - no houses, no fields,</p><p>just the bus stop sign, a little stream, and the trail opening. I slung my</p><p>rucksack over my shoulder and started up the track. The stream ran</p><p>along the left side of the trail, and a forest of deciduous trees lined the</p><p>right. I had been climbing</p><p>the gentle slope for some 15 minutes when I came to a road leading</p><p>into the woods on the right, the opening barely wide enough to</p><p>accommodate a car. AMI HOSTEL PRIVATE NO TRESPASSING</p><p>read the sign by the road.</p><p>Sharply etched tyre tracks ran up the road through the trees. The</p><p>occasional flapping of wings echoed in the woods. The sound came</p><p>through with strange clarity, as if amplified above the other voices of</p><p>the forest. Once, from far away, I heard what might have been a rifle</p><p>shot, but it was a small and muffled sound, as though it had passed</p><p>through several filters.</p><p>Beyond the woods I came to a white stone wall. It was no higher than</p><p>my own height and, lacking additional barriers on top, would have</p><p>been easy for me to scale. The black iron gate looked sturdy enough,</p><p>but it was wide open, and there was no one manning the guardhouse.</p><p>Another sign like the last one stood by the gate: AMI HOSTEL</p><p>112</p><p>PRIVATE NO TRESPASSING. A few clues suggested the guard had</p><p>been there until some moments before: the ashtray held three butt-</p><p>ends, a tea cup stood there half empty, a transistor radio sat on a shelf,</p><p>and the clock on the wall ticked off the time with a dry sound. I waited</p><p>a while for the person to come back, but when that showed no sign of</p><p>happening, I gave a few pushes to something that looked as if it might</p><p>be a bell. The area just inside the gate was a car park. In it stood a</p><p>mini-bus, a four-wheel drive Land Cruiser, and a dark blue Volvo.</p><p>The car park could have held 30 cars, but only those three were parked</p><p>there now.</p><p>Two or three minutes went by, and then a gatekeeper in a navy-blue</p><p>uniform came down the forest road on a yellow bicycle. He was a tall</p><p>man in his early sixties with receding hair. He leaned the yellow bike</p><p>against the guardhouse and said, "I'm very sorry to have kept you</p><p>waiting," though he didn't sound sorry at all. The number 32 was</p><p>painted in white on the bike's mudguard. When I gave him my name,</p><p>he picked up the phone and repeated it twice to someone on the other</p><p>end, replied "Yes, uh-huh, I see" to the other person, then hung up.</p><p>"Go to the main building, please, and ask for Doctor Ishida," he said</p><p>to me. "You take this road through the trees to a roundabout. Then</p><p>take your second left - got that? Your second left - from the</p><p>roundabout. You'll see an old house. Turn right and go through</p><p>another bunch of trees to a concrete building. That's the main building.</p><p>It's easy, just watch for the signs."</p><p>I took the second left from the roundabout as instructed, and where</p><p>that path ended I came to an interesting old building that obviously</p><p>had been someone's country house once. It had a manicured garden</p><p>with well-shaped rocks and a stone lantern. It must have been a</p><p>country estate. Turning right through the trees, I saw a three-storey</p><p>concrete building. It stood in a hollowed-out area, and so there was</p><p>nothing overwhelming about its three storeys. It was simple in design</p><p>and gave a strong impression of cleanliness.</p><p>113</p><p>The entrance was on the second floor. I climbed the stairs and went in</p><p>through a big glass door to find a young woman in a red dress at the</p><p>reception desk. I gave her my name and said I had been instructed to</p><p>ask for Doctor Ishida. She smiled and gestured towards a brown sofa,</p><p>suggesting in low tones that I wait there for the doctor to come. Then</p><p>she dialled a number. I lowered my rucksack from my back, sank</p><p>down into the deep cushions of the sofa, and surveyed the place. It</p><p>was a clean, pleasant lobby, with ornamental potted plants, tasteful</p><p>abstract paintings, and a polished floor. As I waited, I kept my eyes on</p><p>the floor's reflection of my shoes.</p><p>At one point the receptionist assured me, "The doctor will be here</p><p>soon." I nodded. What an incredibly quiet place! There were no</p><p>sounds of any kind. It was as though everyone were taking a siesta.</p><p>People, animals, insects, plants must all be sound asleep, I thought, it</p><p>was such a quiet afternoon.</p><p>Before long, though, I heard the soft padding of rubber soles, and a</p><p>mature, bristly-haired woman appeared. She swept across the lobby,</p><p>sat down next to me, crossed her legs and took my hand. Instead of</p><p>just shaking it, she turned my hand over, examining it front and back.</p><p>"You haven't played a musical instrument, at least not for some years</p><p>now, have you?" were the first words out of her mouth.</p><p>"No," I said, taken aback. "You're right."</p><p>"I can tell from your hands," she said with a smile.</p><p>There was something almost mysterious about this woman. Her face</p><p>had lots of wrinkles. These were the first thing to catch your eye, but</p><p>they didn't make her look old. Instead, they emphasized a certain</p><p>youthfulness in her that transcended age. The wrinkles belonged</p><p>where they were, as if they had been part of her face since birth. When</p><p>she smiled, the wrinkles smiled with her; when she frowned, the</p><p>wrinkles frowned, too. And when she was neither smiling nor frown-</p><p>ing, the wrinkles lay scattered over her face in a</p><p>strangely warm,</p><p>ironic way. Here was a woman in her late thirties who seemed not</p><p>114</p><p>merely a nice person but whose niceness drew you to her. I liked her</p><p>from the moment I saw her.</p><p>Wildly chopped, her hair stuck out in patches and the fringe lay</p><p>crooked against her forehead, but the style suited her perfectly. She</p><p>wore a blue work shirt over a white T-shirt, baggy, cream-coloured</p><p>cotton trousers, and tennis shoes. Long and slim, she had almost no</p><p>breasts. Her lips moved constantly to one side in a kind of ironic curl,</p><p>and the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes moved in tiny twitches. She</p><p>looked like a kindly, skilled, but somewhat world-weary female</p><p>carpenter.</p><p>Chin drawn in and lips curled, she took some time to look me over</p><p>from head to toe. I imagined that any minute now she was going to</p><p>whip out her tape measure and start measuring me everywhere.</p><p>"Can you play an instrument?" she asked. "Sorry, no," I said.</p><p>"Too bad," she said. "It would have been fun."</p><p>"I suppose so," I said. Why all this talk about musical instruments?</p><p>She took a pack of Seven Stars from her breast pocket, put one</p><p>between her lips, lit it with a lighter and began puffing away with</p><p>obvious pleasure.</p><p>"It crossed my mind that I should tell you about this place, Mr. -</p><p>Watanabe, wasn't it? - before you see Naoko. So I arranged for the</p><p>two of us to have this little talk. Ami Hostel is kind of unusual - you</p><p>might find it a little confusing without any background knowledge.</p><p>I'm right, aren't I, in supposing that you don't know anything about</p><p>this place?"</p><p>"Almost nothing."</p><p>"Well, then, first of all - " she began, then snapped her fingers. "Come</p><p>to think of it, have you had lunch? I'll bet you're hungry."</p><p>"You're right, I am."</p><p>"Come with me, then. We can talk over food in the dining hall.</p><p>Lunchtime is over, but if we go now they can still make us</p><p>something."</p><p>115</p><p>She took the lead, hurrying down a corridor and a flight of stairs to the</p><p>first-floor dining hall. It was a large room, with enough space for</p><p>perhaps 200 people, but only half was in use, the other half partitioned</p><p>off, like a resort hotel out of season. The day's menu listed a potato</p><p>stew with noodles, salad, orange juice and bread. The vegetables</p><p>turned out to be as delicious as Naoko had said in her letter, and I</p><p>finished everything on my plate.</p><p>"You obviously enjoy your food!" said my female companion.</p><p>"It's wonderful," I said. "Plus, I've hardly eaten anything all day."</p><p>"You're welcome to mine if you like. I'm full. Here, go ahead."</p><p>"I will, if you really don't want it."</p><p>"I've got a small stomach. It doesn't hold much. I make up for what</p><p>I'm missing with cigarettes." She lit another Seven Star. "Oh, by the</p><p>way, you can call me Reiko. Everybody does."</p><p>Reiko seemed to derive great pleasure from watching me while I ate</p><p>the potato stew she had hardly touched and munched on her bread.</p><p>"Are you Naoko's doctor?" I asked.</p><p>"Me?! Naoko's doctor?!" She screwed up her face. "What makes you</p><p>think I'm a doctor?"</p><p>"They told me to ask for Doctor Ishida."</p><p>"Oh, I get it. No no no, I teach music here. It's a kind of therapy for</p><p>some patients, so for fun they call me "The Music Doctor' and</p><p>sometimes "Doctor Ishida'. But I'm just another patient. I've been here</p><p>seven years. I work as a music teacher and help out in the office, so</p><p>it's hard to tell any more whether I'm a patient or staff. Didn't Naoko</p><p>tell you about me?"</p><p>I shook my head.</p><p>"That's strange," said Reiko. "I'm Naoko's room-mate. I like living</p><p>with her. We talk about all kinds of things. Including you."</p><p>"What about me?"</p><p>"Well, first I have to tell you about this place," said Reiko, ignoring</p><p>116</p><p>my question. "The first thing you ought to know is that this is no</p><p>ordinary "hospital'. It's not so much for treatment as for</p><p>convalescence. We do have a few doctors, of course, and they give</p><p>hourly sessions, but they're just checking people's conditions, taking</p><p>their temperature and things like that, not administering "treatments'</p><p>as in an ordinary hospital. There are no bars on the windows here, and</p><p>the gate is always wide open. People enter and leave voluntarily. You</p><p>have to be suited to that kind of convalescence to be admitted here in</p><p>the first place. In some cases, people who need specialized therapy</p><p>end up going to a specialized hospital. OK so far?"</p><p>"I think so," I said. "But what does this "convalescence' consist of?</p><p>Can you give me a concrete example?"</p><p>Reiko exhaled a cloud of smoke and drank what was left of her orange</p><p>juice. "Just living here is the convalescence," she said. A regular</p><p>routine, exercise, isolation from the outside world, clean air, quiet.</p><p>Our farmland makes us practically self-sufficient; there's no TV or</p><p>radio. We're like one of those commune places you hear so much</p><p>about. Of course, one thing different from a commune is that it costs a</p><p>bundle to get in here."</p><p>A bundle?"</p><p>"Well, it's not ridiculously expensive, but it's not cheap. Just look at</p><p>these facilities. We've got a lot of land here, a few patients, a big staff,</p><p>and in my case I've been here a long time. True, I'm almost staff</p><p>myself so I get concessions, but still ... Now, how about a cup of</p><p>coffee?"</p><p>I said I'd like some. She stubbed out her cigarette and went over to the</p><p>counter, where she poured two cups of coffee from a warm pot and</p><p>brought them back to where we were sitting. She put sugar in hers,</p><p>stirred it, frowned, and took</p><p>a sip.</p><p>-You know," she said, "this sanatorium is not a profitmaking</p><p>enterprise, so it can keep going without charging as much as it might</p><p>117</p><p>have to otherwise. The land was a donation. They created a</p><p>corporation for the purpose. The whole place used to be the donor's</p><p>summer home about 20 years ago. You saw the old house, I'm sure?"</p><p>I said I had.</p><p>"That used to be the only building on the property. It's where they did</p><p>group therapy. That's how it all got started. The donor's son had a</p><p>tendency towards mental illness and a specialist recommended group</p><p>therapy for him. The doctor's theory was that if you could have a</p><p>group of patients living out in the country, helping each other with</p><p>physical labour and have a doctor for advice and check-ups, you could</p><p>cure certain kinds of sickness. They tried it, and the operation grew</p><p>and was incorporated, and they put more land under cultivation, and</p><p>put up the main building five years ago."</p><p>"Meaning, the therapy worked."</p><p>"Well, not for everything. Lots of people don't get better. But also a</p><p>lot of people who couldn't be helped anywhere else managed a</p><p>complete recovery here. The best thing about this place is the way</p><p>everybody helps everybody else. Everybody knows they're flawed in</p><p>some way, and so they try to help each other. Other places don't work</p><p>that way, unfortunately. Doctors are doctors and patients are patients:</p><p>the patient looks for help to the doctor and the doctor gives his help to</p><p>the patient. Here, though, we all help each other. We're all each other's</p><p>mirrors, and the doctors are part of us. They watch us from the</p><p>sidelines and they slip in to help us if they see we need something, but</p><p>it sometimes happens that we help them. Sometimes we're better at</p><p>something than they are. For example, I'm teaching one doctor to play</p><p>the piano and another patient is teaching a nurse French. That kind of</p><p>thing. Patients with problems like ours are often blessed with special</p><p>abilities. So everyone here is equal - patients, staff - and you. You're</p><p>one of us while you're in here, so I help you and you help me." Reiko</p><p>smiled, gently flexing every wrinkle on her face. "You help Naoko</p><p>and Naoko helps you."</p><p>118</p><p>"What should I do, then? Give me an example."</p><p>"First you decide that you want to help and that you need to be helped</p><p>by the other person. Then you are totally honest. You will not lie, you</p><p>will not gloss over anything, you will not cover up anything that might</p><p>prove embarrassing to you. That's all there is to it."</p><p>"I'll try," I said. "But</p><p>tell me, Reiko, why have you been in here for</p><p>seven years? Talking with you like this, I can't believe there's anything</p><p>wrong with you."</p><p>"Not while the sun's up," she said with a sombre look. "But when</p><p>night comes, I start drooling and rolling on the floor." "Really?"</p><p>"Don't be ridiculous, I'm kidding," she said, shaking her head with a</p><p>look of disgust. "I'm completely well - for now, at least. I stay here</p><p>because I enjoy helping other people get well, teaching music,</p><p>growing vegetables. I like it here. We're all more or less friends.</p><p>Compared to that, what have I got in the outside world? I'm 38, going</p><p>on 40. I'm not like Naoko. There's nobody waiting for me to get out,</p><p>no family to take me back. I don't have any work to speak of, and</p><p>almost no friends. And after seven years, I don't know what's going on</p><p>out there. Oh, I'll read a paper in the library every once in a while, but</p><p>I haven't set foot outside this property all that time. I wouldn't know</p><p>what to do if I left."</p><p>"But maybe a new world would open up for you," I said. "It's worth a</p><p>try, don't you think?"</p><p>"Hmm, you may be right," she said, turning her cigarette lighter over</p><p>and over in her hand. "But I've got my own set of problems. I can tell</p><p>you all about them sometime if you like."</p><p>I nodded in response. "And Naoko," I said, "is she any better?"</p><p>"Hmm, we think so. She was pretty confused at first and we had our</p><p>doubts for a while, but she's calmed down now and improved to the</p><p>point where she's able to express herself verbally. She's definitely</p><p>heading in the right direction. But she should have received treatment</p><p>a lot earlier. Her symptoms were already apparent from the time that</p><p>119</p><p>boyfriend of hers, Kizuki, killed himself. Her family should have seen</p><p>it, and she herself should have realized that something was wrong. Of</p><p>course, things weren't right at home, either ..."</p><p>"They weren't?" I shot back.</p><p>"You didn't know?" Reiko seemed more surprised than I was.</p><p>I shook my head.</p><p>"I'd better let Naoko tell you about that herself. She's ready for some</p><p>honest talk with you." Reiko gave her coffee another stir and took a</p><p>sip. "There's one more thing you need to know," she said. "According</p><p>to the rules here, you and Naoko will not be allowed to be alone</p><p>together. Visitors can't be alone with patients. An observer always has</p><p>to be present - which in this case means me. I'm sorry, but you'll just</p><p>have to put up with me. OK?"</p><p>"OK," I said with a smile.</p><p>"But still," she said, "the two of you can talk about anything you'd</p><p>like. Forget I'm there. I know pretty much everything there is to know</p><p>about you and Naoko."</p><p>"Everything?"</p><p>"Pretty much. We have these group sessions, you know. So we learn a</p><p>lot about each other. Plus Naoko and I talk about everything. We don't</p><p>have many secrets here."</p><p>I looked at Reiko as I drank my coffee. "To tell you the truth," I said,</p><p>"I'm confused. I still don't know whether what I did to Naoko in</p><p>Tokyo was the right thing to do or not. I've been thinking about it this</p><p>whole time, but I still don't know."</p><p>"And neither do I," said Reiko. "And neither does Naoko. That's</p><p>something the two of you will have to decide for yourselves. See what</p><p>I mean? Whatever happened, the two of you can turn it in the right</p><p>direction - if you can reach some kind of mutual understanding.</p><p>Maybe, once you've got that taken care of, you can go back and think</p><p>about whether what happened was the right thing or not. What do you</p><p>say?"</p><p>120</p><p>I nodded.</p><p>"I think the three of us can help each other - you and Naoko and I - if</p><p>we really want to, and if we're really honest. It can be incredibly</p><p>effective when three people work at it like that. How long can you</p><p>stay?"</p><p>"Well, I'd like to get back to Tokyo by early evening the day after</p><p>tomorrow. I have to work, and I've got a German exam on Thursday."</p><p>"Good," she said. "So you can stay with us. That way it won't cost you</p><p>anything and you can talk without having to worry about the time."</p><p>"With "us'?" I asked.</p><p>"Naoko and me, of course," said Reiko. "We have a separate bedroom,</p><p>and there's a sofa bed in the living room, so you'll be able to sleep</p><p>fine. Don't worry."</p><p>,,Do they allow that?" I asked. "Can a male visitor stay in a Woman's</p><p>room?"</p><p>"I don't suppose you're going to come in and rape us in the middle of</p><p>the night?"</p><p>"Don't be silly."</p><p>"So there's no problem, then. Stay in our place and we can have some</p><p>nice, long talks. That would be the best thing. Then we can really</p><p>understand each other. And I can play my guitar for you. I'm pretty</p><p>good, you know."</p><p>"Are you sure I'm not going to be in the way?"</p><p>Reiko put her third Seven Star between her lips and lit it after</p><p>screwing up the corner of her mouth.</p><p>"Naoko and I have already discussed this. The two of us together are</p><p>giving you a personal invitation to stay with us. Don't you think you</p><p>should just politely accept?"</p><p>"Of course, I'll be glad to."</p><p>Reiko deepened the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and looked at</p><p>me for a time. "You've got this funny way of talking," she said. "Don't</p><p>tell me you're trying to imitate that boy in Catcher in the Rye?"</p><p>121</p><p>"No way!" I said with a smile.</p><p>Reiko smiled too, cigarette in mouth. "You are a good person, though.</p><p>I can tell that much from looking at you. I can tell these things after</p><p>seven years of watching people come and go here: there are people</p><p>who can open their hearts and people who can't. You're one of the</p><p>ones who can. Or, more precisely, you can if you want to."</p><p>"What happens when people open their hearts?"</p><p>Reiko clasped her hands together on the table, cigarette dangling from</p><p>her lips. She was enjoying this. "They get better," she said. Ash</p><p>dropped onto the table, but she seemed not to notice.</p><p>Reiko and I left the main building, crossed a hill, and passed by a</p><p>pool, some tennis courts, and a basketball court. Two men - one thin</p><p>and middle-aged, the other young and fat were on a tennis court. Both</p><p>used their racquets well, but to me the game they were playing could</p><p>not have been tennis. It seemed as if the two of them had a special</p><p>interest in the bounce of tennis balls and were doing research in that</p><p>area. They slammed the ball back and forth with a kind of strange</p><p>concentration. Both were drenched in sweat. The young man, in the</p><p>end of the court closer to us, noticed Reiko and carne over. They</p><p>exchanged a few words, smiling. Near the court, a man with no</p><p>expression on his face was using a large mower to cut the grass.</p><p>Moving on, we came to a patch of woods where some 15 or 20 neat</p><p>little cottages stood at some distance from each other. The same kind</p><p>of yellow bike the gatekeeper had been riding was parked at the</p><p>entrance to almost every house. "Staff members and their families live</p><p>here," said Reiko.</p><p>"We have just about everything we need without going to the city,"</p><p>she said as we walked along. "Where food is concerned, as I said</p><p>before, we're practically self-sufficient. We get eggs from our own</p><p>chicken coop. We have books and records and exercise facilities, our</p><p>own convenience store, and every week barbers and beauticians come</p><p>to visit. We even have films at weekends. Anything special we need</p><p>122</p><p>we can ask a staff member to buy for us in town. Clothing we order</p><p>from catalogues. Living here is no problem."</p><p>"But you can't go into town?"</p><p>"No, that we can't do. Of course if there's something special, like we</p><p>have to go to the dentist or something, that's another matter, but as a</p><p>rule we can't go into town. Each person is completely free to leave this</p><p>place, but once you've left you can't come back. You burn your</p><p>bridges. You can't go off for a couple of days in town and expect to</p><p>come back. It only stands to reason, though. Everybody would be</p><p>coming and going."</p><p>Beyond the trees we came to a gentle slope along which, at irregular</p><p>intervals, was a row of two-storey wooden houses that had something</p><p>odd about them. What made them look strange it's hard to say, but that</p><p>was the first thing I felt when I saw them. My reaction was a lot like</p><p>what we feel when we see unreality painted in a pleasant way. It</p><p>occurred to me that this was what you might get if Walt Disney did an</p><p>animated version of a Munch painting. All the houses were exactly the</p><p>same shape and colour, nearly cubical, in perfect left-to-right</p><p>symmetry, with big front doors and lots of windows. The road twisted</p><p>its way among them like the artificial practice course of a driving</p><p>school. There was a well-manicured flowering shrubbery in front of</p><p>every house. The place was deserted, and curtains covered all the</p><p>windows.</p><p>"This is called Area C. The women live here. Us! There are ten</p><p>houses, each containing four units, two people per unit. That's 80</p><p>people all together, but at the moment there are only 32 of us."</p><p>"Quiet, isn't it?"</p><p>"Well, there's nobody here now," Reiko said. "I've been given special</p><p>permission to move around freely like this, but everyone else is off</p><p>pursuing their individual schedules. Some are exercising, some are</p><p>gardening, some are in group therapy, some are out gathering wild</p><p>plants. Each person makes up his or her own schedule. Let's see,</p><p>123</p><p>what's Naoko doing now? I think she was supposed to be working on</p><p>new paint and wallpaper. I forget. There are a few jobs like that that</p><p>don't finish till five."</p><p>Reiko walked into the building marked "C-7", climbed the stairs at the</p><p>far end of the hallway, and opened the door on the right, which was</p><p>unlocked. She showed me around the flat, a pleasant, if plain, four-</p><p>room unit: living room, bedroom, kitchen, and bath. It had no extra</p><p>furniture or unnecessary decoration, but neither was the place severe.</p><p>There was nothing special about it, but being there was kind of like</p><p>being with Reiko: you could relax and let the tension leave your body.</p><p>The living room had a sofa, a table, and a rocking chair. Another table</p><p>stood in the kitchen. Both tables had large ashtrays on them. The</p><p>bedroom had two beds, two desks and a closet. A small night table</p><p>stood between the beds with a reading lamp on top and a paperback</p><p>turned face down. The kitchen had a small electric cooker that</p><p>matched the fridge and was equipped for simple cooking.</p><p>"No bath, just a shower, but it's pretty impressive, wouldn't you say?</p><p>Bath and laundry facilities are communal."</p><p>"It's almost too impressive. My dorm room has a ceiling and a</p><p>window."</p><p>"Ah, but you haven't seen the winters here," said Reiko, touching my</p><p>back to guide me to the sofa and sitting down next to me. "They're</p><p>long and harsh. Nothing but snow and snow and more snow</p><p>everywhere you look. It gets damp and chills you to the bone. We</p><p>spend the winter shovelling snow. Mostly you stay inside where it's</p><p>warm and listen to music or talk or knit. If you didn't have this much</p><p>space, you'd suffocate. You'll see if you come here in the winter."</p><p>Reiko gave a deep sigh as if picturing wintertime, then folded her</p><p>hands on her knees.</p><p>"This will be your bed," she said, patting the sofa. "We'll</p><p>sleep in the bedroom, and you'll sleep here. You should be all right,</p><p>don't you think?"</p><p>124</p><p>"I'm sure I'll be fine."</p><p>"So, that settles it," said Reiko. "We'll be back around five. Naoko and</p><p>I both have things to do until then. Do you mind staying here alone?"</p><p>"Not at all. I'll study my German."</p><p>When Reiko left, I stretched out on the sofa and closed my eyes. I lay</p><p>there steeping myself in the silence when, out of nowhere, I thought of</p><p>the time Kizuki and I went on a motorbike ride. That had been</p><p>autumn, too, I realized. Autumn how many years ago? Yes, four. I</p><p>recalled the smell of Kizuki's leather jacket and the racket made by</p><p>that red Yamaha 125cc bike. We went to a spot far down the coast,</p><p>and came back the same evening, exhausted. Nothing special</p><p>happened on the way, but I remembered it well. The sharp autumn</p><p>wind moaned in my ears, and looking up at the sky, my hands</p><p>clutching Kizuki's jacket, I felt as if I might be swept into outer space.</p><p>I lay there for a long time, letting my mind wander from one memory</p><p>to another. For some strange reason, lying in this room seemed to</p><p>bring back old memories that I had rarely if ever recalled before.</p><p>Some of them were pleasant, but others carried a trace of sadness.</p><p>How long did this go on? I was so immersed in that torrent of memory</p><p>(and it was a torrent, like a spring gushing out of the rocks) that I</p><p>failed to notice Naoko quietly open the door and come in. I opened my</p><p>eyes, and there she was. I raised my head and looked into her eyes for</p><p>a time. She was sitting on the arm of the sofa, looking at me. At first I</p><p>thought she might be an image spun into existence by my own</p><p>memories. But it was the real Naoko.</p><p>"Sleeping?" she whispered.</p><p>"No," I said, "just thinking." I sat up and asked, "How are you?"</p><p>"I'm good," she said with a little smile like a pale, distant scene. "I</p><p>don't have much time, though. I'm not supposed to be here now. I just</p><p>got away for a minute, and I have to go back right away. Don't you</p><p>hate my hair?"</p><p>"Not at all," I said. "It's cute." Her hair was in a simple schoolgirl</p><p>125</p><p>style, with one side held in place with a hairslide the way she used to</p><p>have it in the old days. It suited her very well, as if she had always</p><p>worn it that way. She looked like one of the beautiful little girls you</p><p>see in woodblock prints from the Middle Ages.</p><p>"It's such a pain, I have Reiko cut it for me. Do you really think it's</p><p>cute?"</p><p>"Really."</p><p>"My mother hates it." She opened the hairslide, let the hair hang</p><p>down, smoothed it with her fingers, and closed the hairslide again. It</p><p>was shaped like a butterfly.</p><p>"I wanted to see you alone before the three of us get together. Not that</p><p>I had anything special to say. I just wanted to see your face and get</p><p>used to having you here. Otherwise, I'd have trouble getting to know</p><p>you again. I'm so bad with people."</p><p>"Well?" I asked. "Is it working?"</p><p>"A little," she said, touching her hairslide again. "But time's up. I've</p><p>got to go."</p><p>I nodded.</p><p>"Toru," she began, "I really want to thank you for coming to see me. It</p><p>makes me very happy. But if being here is any kind of burden to you,</p><p>you shouldn't hesitate to tell me so. This is a special place, and it has a</p><p>special system, and some people can't get into it. So if you feel like</p><p>that, please be honest and let me know. I won't be crushed. We're</p><p>honest with each other here. We tell each other all kinds of things with</p><p>complete honesty."</p><p>"I'll tell you," I said. "I'll be honest."</p><p>Naoko sat down and leaned against me on the sofa. When I put my</p><p>arm around her, she rested her head on my shoulder and pressed her</p><p>face to my neck. She stayed like that for a time, almost as if she were</p><p>taking my temperature. Holding her, I felt warm in the chest. After a</p><p>short while, she stood up without saying a word and went out through</p><p>the door as quietly as she had come in.</p><p>126</p><p>With Naoko gone, I went to sleep on the sofa. I hadn't intended to do</p><p>so, but I fell into the kind of deep sleep I had not had for a long time,</p><p>filled with a sense of Naoko's presence. In the kitchen were the dishes</p><p>Naoko used, in the bathroom was the toothbrush Naoko used, and in</p><p>the bedroom was the bed in which Naoko slept. Sleeping soundly in</p><p>this flat of hers, I wrung the fatigue from every cell of my body, drop</p><p>by drop. I dreamed of a butterfly dancing in the half-light.</p><p>When I awoke again, the hands of my watch were pointing to 4.35.</p><p>The light had changed, the wind had died, the shapes of the clouds</p><p>were different. I had sweated in my sleep, so I dried my face with a</p><p>small towel from my rucksack and put on a fresh vest. Going to the</p><p>kitchen, I drank some water and stood there looking through the</p><p>window over the sink. I was facing a window in the building opposite,</p><p>on the inside of which hung several paper cut-outs - a bird, a cloud, a</p><p>cow, a cat, all in skilful silhouette and joined together. As before,</p><p>there was no sign of anyone</p><p>shells with my toecap, then looked up at the</p><p>patches of sky showing through the pine branches. Hands in pockets,</p><p>Naoko stood there thinking, her eyes focused on nothing in particular.</p><p>"Tell me something, Toru," she said. "Do you love me?"</p><p>"You know I do."</p><p>"Will you do me two favors?"</p><p>"You can have up to three wishes, Madame."</p><p>Naoko smiled and shook her head. "No, two will do. One is for you to</p><p>realize how grateful I am that you came to see me here. I hope you'll</p><p>understand how happy you've made me. I know it's going to save me</p><p>if anything will. I may not show it, but it's true."</p><p>"I'll come to see you again," I said. "And what is the other wish?"</p><p>"I want you always to remember me. Will you remember that I</p><p>existed, and that I stood next to you here like this?"</p><p>"Always," I said. "I'll always remember."</p><p>She walked on without speaking. The autumn light filtering through</p><p>the branches danced over the shoulders of her jacket. A dog barked</p><p>again, closer than before. Naoko climbed a small mound, walked out</p><p>of the forest and hurried down a gentle slope. I followed two or three</p><p>steps behind.</p><p>"Come over here," I called towards her back. "The well might be</p><p>around here somewhere." Naoko stopped and smiled and took my</p><p>arm. We walked the rest of the way side by side. "Do you really</p><p>13</p><p>promise never to forget me?" she asked in a near whisper.</p><p>"I'll never forget you," I said. "I could never forget you."</p><p>Even so, my memory has grown increasingly dim, and I have already</p><p>forgotten any number of things. Writing from memory like this, I</p><p>often feel a pang of dread. What if I've forgotten the most important</p><p>thing? What if somewhere inside me there is a dark limbo where all</p><p>the truly important memories are heaped and slowly turning into mud?</p><p>Be that as it may, it's all I have to work with. Clutching these faded,</p><p>fading, imperfect memories to my breast, I go on writing this book</p><p>with all the desperate intensity of a starving man sucking on bones.</p><p>This is the only way I know to keep my promise to Naoko.</p><p>Once, long ago, when I was still young, when the memories were far</p><p>more vivid than they are now, I often tried to write about her. But I</p><p>couldn't produce a line. I knew that if that first line would come, the</p><p>rest would pour itself onto the page, but I could never make it happen.</p><p>Everything was too sharp and clear, so that I could never tell where to</p><p>start - the way a map that shows too much can sometimes be useless.</p><p>Now, though, I realize that all I can place in the imperfect vessel of</p><p>writing are imperfect memories and imperfect thoughts. The more the</p><p>memories of Naoko inside me fade, the more deeply I am able to</p><p>understand her. I know, too, why she asked me not to forget her.</p><p>Naoko herself knew, of course. She knew that my memories of her</p><p>would fade. Which is precisely why she begged me never to forget</p><p>her, to remember that she had existed.</p><p>The thought fills me with an almost unbearable sorrow. Because</p><p>Naoko never loved me.</p><p>14</p><p>Once upon a time, many years ago - just 20 years ago, in fact - I was</p><p>living in a dormitory. I was 18 and a first-year student. I was new to</p><p>Tokyo and new to living alone, and so my anxious parents found a</p><p>private dorm for me to live in rather than the kind of single room that</p><p>most students took. The dormitory provided meals and other facilities</p><p>and would probably help their unworldly 18-year-old survive.</p><p>Expenses were also a consideration. A dorm cost far less than a</p><p>private room. As long as I had bedding and a lamp, there was no need</p><p>to buy a lot of furnishings. For my part, I would have preferred to rent</p><p>a flat and live in comfortable solitude, but knowing what my parents</p><p>had to spend on enrolment fees and tuition at the private university I</p><p>was attending, I was in no position to insist. And besides, I really</p><p>didn't care where I lived.</p><p>Located on a hill in the middle of the city with open views, the</p><p>dormitory compound sat on a large quadrangle surrounded by a</p><p>concrete wall. A huge, towering zelkova tree stood just inside the</p><p>front gate. People said it was at least 150 years old. Standing at its</p><p>base, you could look up and see nothing of the sky through its dense</p><p>cover of green leaves.</p><p>The paved path leading from the gate circumvented the tree and</p><p>continued on long and straight across a broad quadrangle, two three-</p><p>story concrete dorm buildings facing each other on either side of the</p><p>path. They were large with lots of windows and gave the impression</p><p>of being either flats that had been converted into jails or jails that had</p><p>been converted into flats. However there was nothing dirty about</p><p>them, nor did they feel dark. You could hear radios playing through</p><p>open windows, all of which had the same cream-coloured curtains that</p><p>the sun could not fade.</p><p>Beyond the two dormitories, the path led up to the entrance</p><p>of a two-story common building, the first floor of which contained a</p><p>dining hall and bathrooms, the second consisting of an auditorium,</p><p>meeting rooms, and even guest rooms, whose use I could never</p><p>15</p><p>fathom. Next to the common building stood a third dormitory, also</p><p>three storeys high. Broad green lawns filled the quadrangle, and</p><p>circulating sprinklers caught the sunlight as they turned. Behind the</p><p>common building there was a field used for baseball and football, and</p><p>six tennis courts. The complex had everything you could want.</p><p>There was just one problem with the place: its political smell. It was</p><p>run by some kind of fishy foundation that centered on this extreme</p><p>right-wing guy, and there was something strangely twisted - as far as I</p><p>was concerned - about the way they ran the place. You could see it in</p><p>the pamphlet they gave to new students and in the dorm rules. The</p><p>proclaimed "founding spirit" of the dormitory was "to strive to nurture</p><p>human resources of service to the nation through the ultimate in</p><p>educational fundamentals", and many financial leaders who endorsed</p><p>this "spirit" had contributed their private funds to the construction of</p><p>the place. This was the public face of the project, though what lay</p><p>behind it was extremely vague. Some said it was a tax dodge, others</p><p>saw it as a publicity stunt for the contributors, and still others claimed</p><p>that the construction of the dormitory was a cover for swindling the</p><p>public out of a prime piece of real estate. One thing was certain,</p><p>though: in the dorm complex there existed a privileged club composed</p><p>of elite students from various universities. They formed "study</p><p>groups" that met several times a month and included some of the</p><p>founders. Any member of the club could be assured of a good job after</p><p>graduation. I had no idea which - if any - of these theories was correct,</p><p>but they all shared the assumption that there was "something fishy"</p><p>about the place.</p><p>In any case, I spent two years - from the spring of 1968 to the spring</p><p>of 1970 - living in this "fishy" dormitory. Why I put up with it so long,</p><p>I can't really say. In terms of everyday life, it made no practical</p><p>difference to me whether the place was right wing or left wing or</p><p>anything else.</p><p>Each day began with the solemn raising of the flag. They played the</p><p>16</p><p>national anthem, too, of course. You can't have one without the other.</p><p>The flagpole stood in the very center of the compound, where it was</p><p>visible from every window of all three dormitories.</p><p>The Head of the east dormitory (my building) was in charge of the</p><p>flag. He was a tall, eagle-eyed man in his late fifties or early sixties.</p><p>His bristly hair was flecked with grey, and his sunburned neck bore a</p><p>long scar. People whispered that he was a graduate of the wartime</p><p>Nakano spy school, but no one knew for sure. Next to him stood a</p><p>student who acted as his assistant. No one really knew this guy, either.</p><p>He had the world's shortest crewcut and always wore a navy-blue</p><p>student uniform. I didn't know his name or which room he lived in,</p><p>never saw him in the dining hall or the bath. I'm not even sure he was</p><p>about, and there were no sounds of any</p><p>kind. I felt as if I were living alone in an extremely well-cared-for</p><p>ruin.</p><p>People started coming back to Area C a little after five Looking out of</p><p>the kitchen window, I saw three women passing below. All wore hats</p><p>that prevented me from telling their ages, but judging from their</p><p>voices, they were not very young. Shortly after they had disappeared</p><p>around a corner, four more women appeared from the same direction</p><p>and, like the first group, disappeared around the same corner. An</p><p>evening mood hung over everything. From the living room window I</p><p>could see trees and a line of hills. Above the ridge floated a border of</p><p>pale sunlight.</p><p>Naoko and Reiko came back together at 5.30. Naoko and I exchanged</p><p>proper greetings as if meeting for the first time. She seemed truly</p><p>embarrassed. Reiko noticed the book I had been reading and asked</p><p>what it was. Thomas Mann's The Magic Mountain, I told her.</p><p>"How could you bring a book like that to a place like this?" she</p><p>127</p><p>demanded. She was right, of course.</p><p>Reiko then made coffee for the three of us. I told Naoko about Storm</p><p>Trooper's sudden disappearance and about the last day I saw him,</p><p>when he gave me the firefly.</p><p>"I'm so sorry he's gone," she said. "I wanted to hear more stories about</p><p>him." Reiko asked who Storm Trooper was, so I told her about his</p><p>antics and got a big laugh from her. The world was at peace and filled</p><p>with laughter as long as Storm Trooper stories were being told.</p><p>At six we went to the dining hall in the main building for supper.</p><p>Naoko and I had fried fish with green salad, boiled vegetables, rice</p><p>and miso soup. Reiko limited herself to pasta salad and coffee,</p><p>followed by another cigarette.</p><p>"You don't need to eat so much as you get older," she said by way of</p><p>explanation.</p><p>Some 20 other people were there in the dining hall. A few newcomers</p><p>arrived as we ate, meanwhile some others left. Aside from the variety</p><p>in people's ages, the scene looked pretty much like that of the dining</p><p>hall in my dormitory. Where it differed was the uniform volume at</p><p>which people conversed. There were no loud voices and no whispers,</p><p>no one laughing out loud or crying out in shock, no one yelling with</p><p>exaggerated gestures, nothing but quiet conversations, all carrying on</p><p>at the same level. People were eating in groups of three to five, each</p><p>with a single speaker, to whom the others would listen with nods and</p><p>grunts of interest, and when that person had finished speaking, the</p><p>next would take up the conversation. I could not tell what they were</p><p>saying, but the way they said it reminded me of the strange tennis</p><p>game I had seen at noon. I wondered if Naoko spoke like this when</p><p>she was with them and, strangely enough, I felt a twinge of loneliness</p><p>mixed with jealousy.</p><p>At the table behind me, a balding man in white with the authentic air</p><p>of a doctor was holding forth to a nervouslooking young man in</p><p>glasses and a squirrel-faced woman of middle age on the effects of</p><p>128</p><p>weightlessness on the secretion of gastric juices. The two listened with</p><p>an occasional "My goodness" or "Really?" but the longer I listened to</p><p>the balding man's style of speaking, the less certain I became that,</p><p>even in his white coat, he was really a doctor.</p><p>No one in the dining hall paid me any special attention. No one stared</p><p>or even seemed to notice I was there. My presence must have been an</p><p>entirely natural event.</p><p>Just once, though, the man in white spun around and asked me, "How</p><p>long will you be staying?"</p><p>"Two nights," I said. "I'll be leaving on Wednesday."</p><p>"It's nice here this time of year, isn't it? But come again in winter. It's</p><p>really nice when everything's white."</p><p>"Naoko may be out of here by the time it snows," said Reiko to the</p><p>man.</p><p>"True, but still, the winter's really nice," he repeated with a sombre</p><p>expression. I felt increasingly unsure as to whether or not he was a</p><p>doctor.</p><p>"What do you people talk about?" I asked Reiko, who seemed to not</p><p>quite follow me.</p><p>"What do we talk about? Just ordinary things. What happened that</p><p>day, or books we've read, or tomorrow's weather, you know. Don't tell</p><p>me you're wondering if people jump to their feet and shout stuff like:</p><p>"It'll rain tomorrow if a polar bear eats the stars tonight!"'</p><p>"No, no, of course not," I said. "I was just wondering what all these</p><p>quiet conversations were about."</p><p>"It's a quiet place, so people talk quietly," said Naoko. She made a</p><p>neat pile of fish bones at the edge of her plate and dabbed at her</p><p>mouth with a handkerchief. "There's no need to raise your voice here.</p><p>You don't have to convince anybody of anything, and you don't have</p><p>to attract anyone's attention."</p><p>"I guess not," I said, but as I ate my meal in those quiet surroundings,</p><p>I was surprised to find myself missing the hum of people. I wanted to</p><p>129</p><p>hear laughter and people shouting for no reason and saying overblown</p><p>things. That was just the kind of noise I had become weary of in</p><p>recent months, but sitting here eating fish in this unnaturally quiet</p><p>room, I couldn't relax. The dining hall had all the atmosphere of a</p><p>specialized -machine-tool trade fair. People with a strong interest in a</p><p>specialist field came together in a specific place and exchanged</p><p>information understood only by themselves.</p><p>Back in the room after supper, Naoko and Reiko announced that they</p><p>would be going to the Area C communal bath and that if I didn't mind</p><p>having just a shower, I could use the one in their bathroom. I would do</p><p>that, I said, and after they were gone I undressed, showered, and</p><p>washed my hair. I found a Bill Evans album in the bookcase and was</p><p>listening to it while drying my hair when I realized that it was the</p><p>record I had played in Naoko's room on the night of her birthday, the</p><p>night she cried and I took her in my arms. That had been only six</p><p>months ago, but it felt like something from a much remoter past.</p><p>Maybe it felt that way because I had thought about it so often - too</p><p>often, to the point where it had distorted my sense of time.</p><p>The moon was so bright, I turned the lights off and stretched out on</p><p>the sofa to listen to Bill Evans' piano. Streaming in through the</p><p>window, the moonlight cast long shadows and splashed the walls with</p><p>a touch of diluted Indian ink. I took a thin metal flask from my</p><p>rucksack, let my mouth fill with the brandy it contained, allowed the</p><p>warmth to move slowly down my throat to my stomach, and from</p><p>there felt it spreading to every extremity. After a final sip, I closed the</p><p>flask and returned it to my rucksack. Now the moonlight seemed to be</p><p>swaying with the music.</p><p>Twenty minutes later, Naoko and Reiko came back from the bath.</p><p>"Oh! It was so dark here, we thought you had packed your bags and</p><p>gone back to Tokyo!" exclaimed Reiko.</p><p>"No way," I said. "I hadn't seen such a bright moon for years. I wanted</p><p>to look at it with the lights off."</p><p>130</p><p>"It's lovely, though," said Naoko. "Reiko, do we still have those</p><p>candles from the last power cut?"</p><p>"Probably, in a kitchen drawer."</p><p>Naoko brought a large, white candle from the kitchen. I lit it, dripped</p><p>a little wax into a plate, and stood it up. Reiko used the flame to light a</p><p>cigarette. As the three of us sat facing the candle amid these hushed</p><p>surroundings, it began to seem as if we were the only ones left on</p><p>some far edge of the world. The still shadows of the moonlight and the</p><p>swaying shadows of the candlelight met and melded on the white</p><p>walls of the flat. Naoko and I sat next to each other on the sofa, and</p><p>Reiko settled into the rocking chair facing us.</p><p>"How about some wine?" Reiko asked me.</p><p>"You're allowed to drink?" I asked with some surprise.</p><p>"Well, not really," said Reiko, scratching an earlobe with a hint of</p><p>embarrassment. "But they pretty much let it go. If it's just wine or beer</p><p>and you don't drink too much. I've got a friend on the staff who buys</p><p>me a little now and then."</p><p>"We have our drinking parties," said Naoko with a mischievous</p><p>air.</p><p>"Just the two of us."</p><p>"That's nice," I said.</p><p>Reiko took a bottle of white wine from the fridge, opened it with a</p><p>corkscrew and brought three glasses. The wine had a clear, delicious</p><p>flavour that seemed almost homemade. When the record ended, Reiko</p><p>brought out a guitar from under her bed, and after tuning it with a look</p><p>of fondness for the instrument, she began to play a slow Bach fugue.</p><p>She missed her fingering every now and then, but it was real Bach,</p><p>with real feeling - warm, intimate, and filled with the joy of</p><p>performance.</p><p>"I started playing the guitar here," said Reiko. "There are no pianos in</p><p>the rooms, of course. I'm self-taught, and I don't have guitar hands, so</p><p>131</p><p>I'll never get very good, but I really love the instrument. It's small and</p><p>simple and easy, kind of like a warm, little room."</p><p>She played one more short Bach piece, something from a suite. Eyes</p><p>on the candle flame, sipping wine, listening to Reiko's Bach, I felt the</p><p>tension inside me slipping away. When Reiko ended the Bach, Naoko</p><p>asked her to play a Beatles song.</p><p>"Request time," said Reiko, winking at me. "She makes me play</p><p>Beatles every day, like I'm her music slave."</p><p>Despite her protest, Reiko played a fine "Michelle".</p><p>"That's a good one," she said. "I really like that song." She took a sip</p><p>of wine and puffed her cigarette. "It makes me feel like I'm in a big</p><p>meadow in a soft rain."</p><p>Then she played "Nowhere Man" and "Julia". Now and then as she</p><p>played, she would close her eyes and shake her head. Afterwards she</p><p>would return to the wine and the cigarette.</p><p>"Play "Norwegian Wood'," said Naoko.</p><p>Reiko brought a porcelain beckoning cat from the kitchen. It was a</p><p>coin bank, and Naoko dropped a ? 100 piece from her purse into its</p><p>slot.</p><p>"What's this all about?" I asked.</p><p>"It's a rule," said Naoko. "When I request "Norwegian Wood,' I have</p><p>to put ? 100 into the bank. It's my favourite, so I make a point of</p><p>paying for it. I make a request when I really want to hear it."</p><p>"And that way I get my cigarette money!" said Reiko.</p><p>Reiko gave her fingers a good flexing and then played "Norwegian</p><p>Wood". Again she played with real feeling, but never allowed it to</p><p>become sentimental. I took ? 100 coin from my pocket and dropped it</p><p>into the bank.</p><p>"Thank you," said Reiko with a sweet smile.</p><p>"That song can make me feel so sad," said Naoko. "I don't know, I</p><p>guess I imagine myself wandering in a deep wood. I'm all alone and</p><p>it's cold and dark, and nobody comes to save me. That's why Reiko</p><p>132</p><p>never plays it unless I request it."</p><p>133</p><p>Sounds like Casablanca!" Reiko said with a laugh.</p><p>She followed "Norwegian Wood" with a few bossa novas while I kept</p><p>my eyes on Naoko. As she had said in her letter, she looked healthier</p><p>than before, suntanned, her body firm from exercise and outdoor</p><p>work. Her eyes were the same deep clear pools they had always been,</p><p>and her small lips still trembled shyly, but overall her beauty had</p><p>begun to change to that of a mature woman. Almost gone now was the</p><p>sharp edge - the chilling sharpness of a thin blade - that could be</p><p>glimpsed in the shadows of her beauty, in place of which there now</p><p>hovered a uniquely soothing, quiet calm. I felt moved by this new,</p><p>gentle beauty of hers, and amazed to think that a woman could change</p><p>so much in the course of half a year. I felt as drawn to her as ever,</p><p>perhaps more than before, but the thought of what she had lost in the</p><p>meantime also gave me cause for regret. Never again would she have</p><p>that self-centred beauty that seems to take its own, independent course</p><p>in adolescent girls and no one else.</p><p>Naoko said she wanted to hear about how I was spending my days. I</p><p>talked about the student strike and Nagasawa. This was the first time I</p><p>had ever said anything about him to her. I found it challenging to give</p><p>her an accurate account of his odd humanity, his unique philosophy,</p><p>and his uncentred morality, but Naoko seemed finally to grasp what I</p><p>was trying to tell her. I hid the fact that I went out hunting girls with</p><p>him, revealing only that the one person in the dorm I spent any real</p><p>time with was this unusual guy. All the while, Reiko went through</p><p>another practice of the Bach fugue she had played before, taking</p><p>occasional breaks for wine and cigarettes.</p><p>"He sounds like a strange person," said Naoko. "He is strange," I</p><p>said. "But you like him?"</p><p>"I'm not sure," I said. "I guess I can't say I like him. Nagasawa is</p><p>beyond liking or not liking. He doesn't try to be liked. In that sense,</p><p>he's a very honest guy, stoic even. He doesn't try to fool anybody."</p><p>""Stoic' sleeping with all those girls? Now that is weird," said Naoko,</p><p>134</p><p>laughing. "How many girls has he slept with?"</p><p>"It's probably up to 80 now," I said. "But in his case, the higher the</p><p>numbers go, the less each individual act seems to mean. Which is</p><p>what I think he's trying to accomplish."</p><p>"And you call that "stoic'?"</p><p>"For him it is."</p><p>Naoko thought about my words for a minute. "I think he's a lot sicker</p><p>in the head than I am," she said.</p><p>"So do I," I said. "But he can put all of his warped qualities into a</p><p>logical system. He's brilliant. If you brought him here, he'd be out in</p><p>two days. "Oh, sure, I know all that,' he'd say. "I understand</p><p>everything you're doing here.' He's that kind of guy. The kind people</p><p>respect."</p><p>"I guess I'm the opposite of brilliant," said Naoko. "I don't understand</p><p>anything they're doing here - any better than I understand myself."</p><p>"It's not because you're not smart," I said. "You're normal. I've got</p><p>tons of things I don't understand about myself. We're both normal:</p><p>ordinary."</p><p>Naoko raised her feet to the edge of the sofa and rested her chin on</p><p>her knees. "I want to know more about you," she said.</p><p>"I'm just an ordinary guy - ordinary family, ordinary education,</p><p>ordinary face, ordinary exam results, ordinary thoughts in my head."</p><p>"You're such a big Scott Fitzgerald fan ... wasn't he the one who said</p><p>you shouldn't trust anybody who calls himself an ordinary man? You</p><p>lent me the book!" said Naoko with a mischievous smile.</p><p>"True," I said. "But this is no affectation. I really, truly believe deep</p><p>down that I'm an ordinary person. Can you find something in me that's</p><p>not ordinary?"</p><p>"Of course I can!" said Naoko with a hint of impatience. "Don't you</p><p>get it? Why do you think I slept with you? Because I was so drunk I</p><p>would have slept with anyone?"</p><p>"No, of course I don't think that," I said.</p><p>135</p><p>Naoko remained silent for a long time, staring at her toes. At a loss for</p><p>words, I took another sip of wine.</p><p>"How many girls have you slept with, Toru?" Naoko asked in a tiny</p><p>voice as if the thought had just crossed her mind.</p><p>"Eight or nine," I answered truthfully.</p><p>Reiko plopped the guitar into her lap. "You're not even 20 years old!"</p><p>she said. "What kind of life are you leading?"</p><p>Naoko kept silent and watched me with those clear eyes of hers. I told</p><p>Reiko about the first girl I'd slept with and how we had broken up. I</p><p>had found it impossible to love her, I explained. I went on to tell her</p><p>about my sleeping with one girl after another under Nagasawa's</p><p>tutelage.</p><p>"I'm not trying to make excuses, but I was in pain," I said to Naoko.</p><p>"Here I was, seeing you almost every week, and talking with you, and</p><p>knowing that the only one in your heart was Kizuki. It hurt. It really</p><p>hurt. And I think that's why I slept with girls I didn't know."</p><p>Naoko shook her head for a few moments, and then she raised her face</p><p>to look at me. "You asked me that time why I had never slept with</p><p>Kizuki, didn't you? Do you still want to know?"</p><p>"I suppose it's something I really ought to know," I said.</p><p>"I think so, too," said Naoko. "The dead will always be dead, but we</p><p>have to go on living."</p><p>I nodded. Reiko played the same difficult passage over and over,</p><p>trying to get it right.</p><p>"I was ready to sleep with him," said Naoko, unclasping her hairslide</p><p>and letting her hair down. She toyed with the butterfly shape in her</p><p>hands.</p><p>"And of course he wanted to sleep with me. So we tried. We</p><p>tried a lot. But it never worked. We couldn't do it. I didn't know why</p><p>then, and I still don't know why. I loved him, and I wasn't worried</p><p>about losing my virginity. I would have been glad to do anything he</p><p>wanted. But it never worked."</p><p>Naoko lifted the hair she had let down and fastened it with the slide.</p><p>136</p><p>"I couldn't get wet," she said in a tiny voice. "I never opened to him.</p><p>So it always hurt. I was just too dry, it hurt too much. We tried</p><p>everything we could think of - creams and things - but still it hurt me.</p><p>So I used my fingers, or my lips. I would always do it for him that</p><p>way. You know what I mean."</p><p>I nodded in silence.</p><p>Naoko cast her gaze through the window at the moon, which looked</p><p>bigger and brighter now than it had before. "I never wanted to talk</p><p>about any of this," she said. "I wanted to shut it up in my heart. I wish</p><p>I still could. But I have to talk about it. I don't know the answer. I</p><p>mean, I was plenty wet the time I slept with you, wasn't I?"</p><p>"Uh-huh," I said.</p><p>"I was wet from the minute you walked into my flat the night of my</p><p>twentieth birthday. I wanted you to hold me. I wanted you to take off</p><p>my clothes, to touch me all over and enter me. I had never felt like</p><p>that before. Why is that? Why do things happen like that? I mean, I</p><p>really loved him."</p><p>"And not me," I said. "You want to know why you felt that way about</p><p>me, even though you didn't love me?"</p><p>"I'm sorry," said Naoko. "I don't mean to hurt you, but this much you</p><p>have to understand: Kizuki and I had a truly special relationship. We</p><p>had been together from the time we were three. It's how we grew up:</p><p>always together, always talking, understanding each other perfectly.</p><p>The first time we kissed it was in the first year of junior school - was</p><p>just wonderful. The first time I had my period, I ran to him and cried</p><p>like a baby. We were that close. So after he died, I didn't know how to</p><p>relate to other people. I didn't know what it meant to love another</p><p>person."</p><p>She reached for her wineglass on the table but only managed to knock</p><p>it over, spilling wine on the carpet. I crouched down and retrieved the</p><p>glass, setting it on the table. Did she want to drink some more? I</p><p>asked. Naoko remained silent for a while, then suddenly burst into</p><p>137</p><p>tears, trembling all over. Slumping forward, she buried her face in her</p><p>hands and sobbed with the same suffocating violence as she had that</p><p>night with me. Reiko laid down her guitar and sat by Naoko, caressing</p><p>her back. When she put an arm across Naoko's shoulders, she pressed</p><p>her face against Reiko's chest like a baby.</p><p>"You know," Reiko said to me, "it might be a good idea for you to go</p><p>out for a little walk. Maybe 20 minutes. Sorry, but I think that would</p><p>help."</p><p>I nodded and stood, pulling a jumper on over my shirt. "Thanks for</p><p>stepping in," I said to Reiko.</p><p>"Don't mention it," she said with a wink. "This is not your fault. Don't</p><p>worry, by the time you come back she'll be OK."</p><p>My feet carried me down the road, which was illuminated by the</p><p>oddly unreal light of the moon, and into the woods.</p><p>Beneath that moonlight, all sounds bore a strange reverberation. The</p><p>hollow sound of my own footsteps seemed to come from another</p><p>direction as though I were hearing someone walking on the bottom of</p><p>the sea. Behind me, every now and then, I would hear a crack or a</p><p>rustle. A heavy pall hung over the forest, as if the animals of the night</p><p>were holding their breath, waiting for me to pass.</p><p>Where the road sloped upwards beyond the trees, I sat and looked</p><p>towards the building where Naoko lived. It was easy to tell her room.</p><p>All I had to do was find the one window towards the back where a</p><p>faint light trembled. I focused on that point of light for a long, long</p><p>time. It made me think of something like the final pulse of a soul's</p><p>dying embers. I wanted to cup my hands over what was left and keep</p><p>it alive. I went on watching it the way Jay Gatsby watched that tiny</p><p>light on the opposite shore night after night.</p><p>When I walked back to the front entrance of the building half an hour</p><p>later, I could hear Reiko practising the guitar. I padded up the stairs</p><p>and tapped on the door to the flat. Inside there was no sign of Naoko.</p><p>138</p><p>Reiko sat alone on the carpet, playing her guitar. She pointed towards</p><p>the bedroom door to let me know Naoko was in there. Then she set</p><p>down the guitar on the floor and took a seat on the sofa, inviting me to</p><p>sit next to her and dividing what wine was left between our two</p><p>glasses.</p><p>"Naoko is fine," she said, touching my knee. "Don't worry, all she has</p><p>to do is rest for a while. She'll calm down. She was just a little worked</p><p>up. How about taking a walk with me in the meantime?"</p><p>"Good," I said.</p><p>Reiko and I ambled down a road illuminated by street lamps. When</p><p>we reached the area by the tennis and basketball courts, we sat on a</p><p>bench. She picked up a basketball from under the bench and turned it</p><p>in her hands. Then she asked me if I played tennis. I knew how to</p><p>play, I said, but I was bad at it.</p><p>"How about basketball?"</p><p>"Not my strongest sport," I said.</p><p>"What is your strongest sport?" Reiko asked, wrinkling the corners of</p><p>her eyes with a smile. "Aside from sleeping with girls."</p><p>"I'm not so good at that, either," I said, stung by her words. "Just</p><p>kidding," she said. "Don't get angry. But really, though, what are you</p><p>good at?"</p><p>"Nothing special. I have things I like to do." "For instance?"</p><p>"Hiking. Swimming. Reading."</p><p>"You like to do things alone, then?"</p><p>"I guess so. I could never get excited about games you play with other</p><p>people. I can't get into them. I lose interest."</p><p>"Then you have to come here in the winter. We do crosscountry</p><p>skiing. I'm sure you'd like that, tramping around in the snow all day,</p><p>working up a good sweat." Under the street lamp, Reiko stared at her</p><p>right hand as though she were inspecting an antique musical</p><p>instrument.</p><p>"Does Naoko often get like that?" I asked.</p><p>139</p><p>"Every now and then," said Reiko, now looking at her left hand.</p><p>"Every once in a while she'll get worked up and cry like that. But</p><p>that's OK. She's letting out her feelings. The scary thing is not being</p><p>able to do that. When your feelings build up and harden and die</p><p>inside, then you're in big trouble."</p><p>"Did I say something I shouldn't have?"</p><p>"Not a thing. Don't worry. Just speak your mind honestly That's the</p><p>best thing. It may hurt a little sometimes, and someone may get upset</p><p>the way Naoko did, but in the long run it's for the best. That's what</p><p>you should do if you're serious about making Naoko well again. Like I</p><p>told you in the beginning, you should think not so much about</p><p>wanting to help her as wanting to recover yourself by helping her to</p><p>recover. That's the way it's done here. So you have to be honest and</p><p>say everything that comes to mind, while you're here at least. Nobody</p><p>does that in the outside world, right?"</p><p>"I guess not," I said.</p><p>"I've seen all kinds of people come and go in my time here," she said,</p><p>"maybe too many people. So I can usually tell by looking at a person</p><p>whether they're going to get better or not, almost by instinct. But in</p><p>Naoko's case, I'm not sure. I have absolutely no idea what's going to</p><p>happen to her. For all I know, she could be 100 per cent recovered</p><p>next month, or she could go on like this for years. So I really can't tell</p><p>you what to do aside from the most generalized kind of advice: to be</p><p>honest and help each other."</p><p>"What makes Naoko such a hard case for you?"</p><p>"Probably because I like her so much. I think my emotions get in the</p><p>way and I can't see her clearly. I mean, I really like her. But aside</p><p>from that, she has a bundle of different problems that are all tangled</p><p>up with each other so that it's hard to unravel a single one. It may take</p><p>a very long time to undo them all, or something could trigger them to</p><p>come unravelled all at once. It's kind of like that. Which is why I can't</p><p>be</p><p>sure about her."</p><p>140</p><p>She picked up the basketball again, twirled it in her hands and</p><p>bounced it on the ground.</p><p>"The most important thing is not to let yourself get impatient," Reiko</p><p>said. "This is one more piece of advice I have for you: don't get</p><p>impatient. Even if things are so tangled up you can't do anything, don't</p><p>get desperate or blow a fuse and start yanking on one particular thread</p><p>before it's ready to come undone. You have to realize it's going to be a</p><p>long process and that you'll work on things slowly, one at a time. Do</p><p>you think you can do that?"</p><p>"I can try," I said.</p><p>"It may take a very long time, you know, and even then she may not</p><p>recover completely. Have you thought about that?" I nodded.</p><p>"Waiting is hard," she said, bouncing the ball. "Especially for</p><p>someone your age. You just sit and wait for her to get better. Without</p><p>deadlines or guarantees. Do you think you can do that? Do you love</p><p>Naoko that much?"</p><p>"I'm not sure," I said honestly. "Like Naoko, I'm not really sure what it</p><p>means to love another person. Though she meant it a little differently.</p><p>I do want to try my best, though. I have to, or else I won't know where</p><p>to go. Like you said before, Naoko and I have to save each other. It's</p><p>the only way for either of us to be saved."</p><p>"And are you going to go on sleeping with girls you pick up?"</p><p>"I don't know what to do about that either," I said. "What do you</p><p>think? Should I just keep waiting and masturbating? I'm not in</p><p>complete control there, either."</p><p>Reiko set the ball on the ground and patted my knee. "Look," she said,</p><p>"I'm not telling you to stop sleeping with girls. If you're OK with that,</p><p>then it's OK. It's your life after all, it's something you have to decide.</p><p>All I'm saying is you shouldn't use yourself up in some unnatural</p><p>form. Do you see what I'm getting at? It would be such a waste. The</p><p>years 19 and 20 are a crucial stage in the maturation of character, and</p><p>if you allow yourself to become warped when you're that</p><p>141</p><p>age, it will cause you pain when you're older. It's true. So think about</p><p>it carefully. If you want to take care of Naoko, take care of yourself,</p><p>too."</p><p>I said I would think about it.</p><p>"I was 20 myself. Once upon a time. Would you believe it?"</p><p>"I believe it. Of course."</p><p>"Deep down?"</p><p>"Deep down," I said with a smile.</p><p>"And I was cute, too. Not as cute as Naoko, but pretty damn cute. I</p><p>didn't have all these wrinkles."</p><p>I said I liked her wrinkles a lot. She thanked me.</p><p>"But don't ever tell another woman that you find her wrinkles</p><p>attractive," she added. "I like to hear it, but I'm the exception."</p><p>"I'll be careful," I said.</p><p>She slipped a wallet from her trouser pocket and handed me a photo</p><p>from the card-holder. It was a colour snapshot of a cute girl around ten</p><p>years old wearing skis and a brightly coloured ski-suit, standing on the</p><p>snow smiling sweetly for the camera.</p><p>"Isn't she pretty? My daughter," said Reiko. "She sent me this in</p><p>January. She's - what? - nine years old now."</p><p>"She has your smile," I said, returning the photo. Reiko pocketed the</p><p>wallet and, with a sniff, put a cigarette between her lips and lit up.</p><p>"I was going to be a concert pianist," she said. "I had talent, and</p><p>people recognized it and made a fuss over me while I was growing up.</p><p>I won competitions and had top marks in the conservatoire, and I was</p><p>all set to study in Germany after graduation. Not a cloud on the</p><p>horizon. Everything worked out perfectly, and when it didn't there was</p><p>always somebody to fix it. But then one day something happened, and</p><p>it all blew apart. I was in my final year at the conservatoire and there</p><p>was a fairly important competition coming up. I practised for it</p><p>constantly, but all of a sudden the little finger of my left hand stopped</p><p>moving. I don't know why, but it just did. I tried massaging it, soaking</p><p>142</p><p>it in hot water, taking a few days off from practice: nothing worked.</p><p>So then I got scared and went to the doctor's. They tried all kinds of</p><p>tests but they couldn't come up with anything. There was nothing</p><p>wrong with the finger itself, and the nerves were OK, they said: there</p><p>was no reason it should stop moving. The problem must be</p><p>psychological. So I went to a psychiatrist, but he didn't really know</p><p>what was going on, either. Probably pre-competition stress, he said,</p><p>and advised me to get away from the piano for a while."</p><p>Reiko inhaled deeply and let the smoke out. Then she bent her neck to</p><p>the side a few times.</p><p>"So I went to recuperate at my grandmother's place on the coast in Izu.</p><p>I thought I'd forget about that particular competition and really relax,</p><p>spend a couple of weeks away from the piano doing anything I</p><p>wanted. But it was hopeless. Piano was all I could think about. Maybe</p><p>my finger would never move again. How would I live if that</p><p>happened? The same thoughts kept going round and round in my</p><p>brain. And no wonder: piano had been my whole life up to that point. I</p><p>had started playing when I was four and grew up thinking about the</p><p>piano and nothing else. I never did housework so as not to injure my</p><p>fingers. People paid attention to me for that one thing: my talent at the</p><p>piano. Take the piano away from a girl who's grown up like that, and</p><p>what's left? So then, snap! MY mind became a complete jumble. Total</p><p>darkness."</p><p>She dropped her cigarette to the ground and stamped it out, then bent</p><p>her neck a few times again.</p><p>"That was the end of my dream of becoming a concert pianist. I spent</p><p>two months in the hospital. My finger started to move shortly after I</p><p>arrived, so I was able to return to the conservatoire and graduate, but</p><p>something inside me had vanished. Some jewel of energy or</p><p>something had disappeared - evaporated - from inside my body. The</p><p>doctor said I lacked the mental strength to become a professional</p><p>pianist and advised me to abandon the idea. So after graduating I took</p><p>143</p><p>pupils and taught them at home. But the pain I felt was excruciating. It</p><p>was as if my life had ended. Here I was in my early twenties and the</p><p>best part of my life was over. Do you see how terrible that would be? I</p><p>had such potential, then woke up one day and it had gone. No more</p><p>applause, no one would make a big fuss over me, no one would tell</p><p>me how wonderful I was. I spent day after day in the house teaching</p><p>neighbourhood children Beyer exercises and sonatinas. I felt so</p><p>miserable, I cried all the time. To think what I had missed! I would</p><p>hear about people who were far less talented than me winning second</p><p>place in a competition or holding a recital in such-and-such a hall, and</p><p>the tears would pour out of me.</p><p>"My parents walked around on tiptoe, afraid of hurting me. But I</p><p>knew how disappointed they were. All of a sudden the daughter they</p><p>had been so proud of was an ex-mental-patient. They couldn't even</p><p>marry me off. When you're living with people, you sense what they're</p><p>feeling, and I hated it. I was afraid to go out, afraid the neighbours</p><p>were talking about me. So then, snap! It happened again - the jumble,</p><p>the darkness. It happened when I was 24, and this time I spent seven</p><p>months in a sanatorium. Not this place: a regular insane asylum with</p><p>high walls and locked gates. A filthy place without pianos. I didn't</p><p>know what to do with myself. All I knew was I wanted to get out of</p><p>there as soon as I could, so I struggled desperately to get better. Seven</p><p>months: a long seven months. That's when my wrinkles started."</p><p>Reiko smiled, her lips stretching from side to side.</p><p>"I hadn't been out of the hospital for long when I met a man and got</p><p>married. He was a year younger than me, an engineer who worked in</p><p>an aeroplane manufacturing company, and one of my pupils. A nice</p><p>man. He didn't say a lot, but he was warm and sincere. He had been</p><p>taking lessons from me for six months when all of a sudden he asked</p><p>me to marry him. Just like that - one day when we were having tea</p><p>after his lesson. Can you believe it? We had never dated or held</p><p>hands. He took me totally</p><p>off guard. I told him I couldn't get married.</p><p>144</p><p>I said I liked him and thought he was a nice person but that, for certain</p><p>reasons, I couldn't marry him. He wanted to know what those reasons</p><p>were, so I explained everything to him with complete honesty - that I</p><p>had been hospitalized twice for mental breakdowns. I told him</p><p>everything - what the cause had been, my condition, and the</p><p>possibility that it could happen again. He said he needed time to think,</p><p>and I encouraged him to take all the time he needed. But when he</p><p>came for his lesson a week later, he said he still wanted to marry me. I</p><p>asked him to wait three months. We would see each other for three</p><p>months, I said, and if he still wanted to marry me at that point, we</p><p>would talk about it again.</p><p>"We dated once a week for three months. We went everywhere, and</p><p>talked about everything, and I got to like him a lot. When I was with</p><p>him, I felt as if my life had finally come back to me. It gave me a</p><p>wonderful sense of relief to be alone with him: I could forget all those</p><p>terrible things that had happened. So what if I hadn't been able to</p><p>become a concert pianist? So what if I had spent time in mental</p><p>hospitals? My life hadn't ended. Life was still full of wonderful things</p><p>I hadn't experienced. If only for having made me feel that way, I felt</p><p>tremendously grateful to him. After three months went by, he asked</p><p>me again to marry him. And this is what I said to him: "If you want to</p><p>sleep with me, I don't mind. I've never slept with anybody, and I'm</p><p>very fond of you, so if you want to make love to me, I don't mind at</p><p>all. But marrying me is a whole different matter. If you marry me, you</p><p>take on all my troubles, and they're a lot worse than you can imagine.</p><p>"He said he didn't care, that he didn't just want to sleep with me, he</p><p>wanted to marry me, to share everything I had inside me. And he</p><p>meant it. He was the kind of person who would only say what he</p><p>really meant, and do anything he said. So I agreed to marry him. It</p><p>was all I could do. We got married, let's see, four months later I think</p><p>it was. He fought with his parents over me, and they disowned him.</p><p>He was from an old family that lived in a rural part of Shikoku. They</p><p>145</p><p>had my background investigated and found out that I had been</p><p>hospitalized twice. No wonder they opposed the marriage. So,</p><p>anyway, we didn't have a wedding ceremony. We just went to the</p><p>registry office and registered our marriage and took a trip to Hakone</p><p>for two nights. That was plenty for us: we were happy. And finally, I</p><p>remained a virgin until the day I married. I was 25 years old! Can you</p><p>believe it?"</p><p>Reiko sighed and picked up the basketball again.</p><p>"I thought that as long as I was with him, I would be all right," she</p><p>went on. "As long as I was with him, my troubles would stay away.</p><p>That's the most important thing for a sickness like ours: a sense of</p><p>trust. If I put myself in this person's hands, I'll be OK. If my condition</p><p>starts to worsen even the slightest bit - if a screw comes loose - he'll</p><p>notice straight away, and with tremendous care and patience he'll fix</p><p>it, he'll tighten the screw again, put all the jumbled threads back in</p><p>place. If we have that sense of trust, our sickness stays away. No more</p><p>snap! I was so happy! Life was great! I felt as if someone had pulled</p><p>me out of a cold, raging sea and wrapped me in a blanket and laid me</p><p>in a warm bed. I had a baby two years after we were married, and then</p><p>my hands were really full! I practically forgot about my sickness. I'd</p><p>get up in the morning and do the housework and take care of the baby</p><p>and feed my husband when he came home from work. It was the same</p><p>thing day after day, but I was happy. It was probably the happiest time</p><p>of my life. How many years did it last, I wonder? At least until I was</p><p>31. And then, all of a sudden, snap! It happened again. I fell apart."</p><p>Reiko lit a cigarette. The wind had died down. The smoke rose</p><p>straight up and disappeared into the darkness of night. Just then I</p><p>realized that the sky was filled with stars.</p><p>"Something happened?" I asked.</p><p>"Yes," she said, "something very strange, as if a trap had been laid for</p><p>me. Even now, it gives me a chill just to think about it." Reiko rubbed</p><p>a temple with her free hand. "I'm sorry, though, making you listen to</p><p>146</p><p>all this talk about me. You came here to see Naoko, not listen to my</p><p>story."</p><p>"I'd really like to hear it, though," I said. "If you don't mind, I'd like to</p><p>hear the rest."</p><p>"Well," Reiko began, "when our daughter entered kindergarten, I</p><p>started playing again, little by little. Not for anyone else, but for</p><p>myself. I started with short pieces by Bach, Mozart, Scarlatti. After</p><p>such a long blank period, of course, my feel for the music didn't come</p><p>back straight away. And my fingers wouldn't move the way they used</p><p>to. But I was thrilled to be playing the piano again. With my hands on</p><p>the keys, I realized how much I had loved music - and how much I</p><p>hungered for it. To be able to perform music for yourself is a</p><p>wonderful thing.</p><p>"As I said before, I had been playing from the time I was four years</p><p>old, but it occurred to me that I had never once played for myself. I</p><p>had always been trying to pass a test or practise an assignment or</p><p>impress somebody. Those are all important things, of course, if you</p><p>are going to master an instrument. But after a certain age you have to</p><p>start performing for yourself. That's what music is. I had to drop out of</p><p>the elite course and pass my thirty-first birthday before I was finally</p><p>able to see that. I would send my child off to kindergarten and hurry</p><p>through the housework, then spend an hour or two playing music I</p><p>liked. So far so good, right?"</p><p>I nodded.</p><p>"Then one day I had a visit from one of the ladies of the</p><p>neighbourhood, someone I at least knew well enough to say hello to</p><p>on the street, asking me to give her daughter piano lessons. I didn't</p><p>know the daughter - although we lived in the same general</p><p>neighbourhood our houses were still pretty far apart - but according to</p><p>the woman, her daughter used to pass my house and loved to hear me</p><p>play. She had seen me at some point, too, and now she was pestering</p><p>her mother to let me teach her. She was in her fourth year of school</p><p>147</p><p>and had taken lessons from a number of people but things had not</p><p>gone well for one reason or another and now she had no teacher.</p><p>"I turned her down. I had had that blank of several years, and while it</p><p>might have made sense for me to take on an absolute beginner, it</p><p>would have been impossible for me to pick up with someone who had</p><p>had lessons for a number of years. Besides, I was too busy taking care</p><p>of my own child and, though I didn't say this to the woman, nobody</p><p>can deal with the kind of child who changes teachers constantly. So</p><p>then the woman asked me to at least do her daughter the favour of</p><p>meeting her once. She was a fairly pushy lady and I could see she was</p><p>not going to let me off the hook that easily, so I agreed to meet the girl</p><p>- but just meet her. Three days later the girl came to the house by</p><p>herself. She was an absolute angel, with a kind of pure, sweet,</p><p>transparent beauty. I had never - and have never - seen such a</p><p>beautiful little girl. She had long, shiny hair as black as freshly ground</p><p>Indian ink, slim, graceful arms and legs, bright eyes, and a soft little</p><p>mouth that looked as if someone had just made it. I couldn't speak</p><p>when I first saw her, she was so beautiful. Sitting on my sofa, she</p><p>turned my living room into a gorgeous parlour. It hurt to look directly</p><p>at her: I had to squint. So, anyway, that's what she was like. I can still</p><p>picture her clearly."</p><p>Reiko narrowed her eyes as if she were actually picturing the girl.</p><p>"Over coffee we talked for a whole hour - talked about all kinds of</p><p>things: music, her school, just everything. I could see straight away</p><p>she was a smart one. She knew how to hold a conversation: she had</p><p>clear, shrewd opinions and</p><p>a natural gift for drawing out the other</p><p>person. It was almost frightening. Exactly what it was that made her</p><p>frightening, I couldn't tell at the time. It just struck me how</p><p>frighteningly intelligent she was. But in her presence I lost any normal</p><p>powers of judgement I might have had. She was so young and</p><p>beautiful, I felt overwhelmed to the point where I saw myself as an</p><p>inferior specimen, a clumsy excuse for a human being who could only</p><p>148</p><p>have negative thoughts about her because of my own warped and</p><p>filthy mind."</p><p>Reiko shook her head several times.</p><p>"If I were as pretty and smart as she was, I'd have been</p><p>a normal human being. What more could you want if you were that</p><p>smart and that beautiful? Why would you have to torment and walk all</p><p>over your weaker inferiors if everybody loved you so much? What</p><p>reason could there possibly be for acting that way?"</p><p>"Did she do something terrible to you?"</p><p>"Well, let me just say the girl was a pathological liar. She was sick,</p><p>pure and simple. She made up everything. And while she was making</p><p>up her stories, she would come to believe them. And then she would</p><p>change things around her to fit her story. She had such a quick mind,</p><p>she could always keep a step ahead of you and take care of things that</p><p>would ordinarily strike you as odd, so it would never cross your mind</p><p>she was lying. First of all, no one would ever suspect that such a pretty</p><p>little girl would lie about the most ordinary things. I certainly didn't.</p><p>She told me tons of lies for six months before I had the slightest</p><p>inkling anything was wrong. She lied about everything, and I never</p><p>suspected. I know it sounds crazy."</p><p>"What did she lie about?"</p><p>"When I say everything, I mean everything." Reiko gave a sarcastic</p><p>laugh. "When people tell a lie about something, they have to make up</p><p>a bunch of lies to go with the first one. 'Mythomania' is the word for it.</p><p>When the usual mythomaniac tells lies, they're usually the innocent</p><p>kind, and most people notice. But not with that girl. To protect herself,</p><p>she'd tell hurtful lies without batting an eyelid. She'd use everything</p><p>she could get her hands on. And she would lie either more or less</p><p>depending on who she was talking to. To her mother or close friends</p><p>who would know straight away, she hardly ever lied, or if she had to</p><p>tell one, she'd be really, really careful to tell lies that wouldn't come</p><p>out. Or if they did come out, she'd find an excuse or apologize in that</p><p>149</p><p>clingy voice of hers with tears pouring out of her beautiful eyes. No</p><p>one could stay mad at her then.</p><p>"I still don't know why she chose me. Was I another victim to her, or a</p><p>source of salvation? I just don't know. Of course, it hardly matters</p><p>now. Now that everything is over. Now that I'm like this."</p><p>A short silence followed.</p><p>"She repeated what her mother had told me, that she had been moved</p><p>when she heard me playing as she passed the house. She had seen me</p><p>on the street a few times, too, and had begun to worship me. She</p><p>actually used that word: "worship'. It made me turn bright red. I mean,</p><p>to be "worshipped' by such a beautiful little doll of a girl! I don't think</p><p>it was an absolute lie, though. I was in my thirties already, of course,</p><p>and I could never be as beautiful and bright as she was, and I had no</p><p>special talent, but I must have had something that drew her to me,</p><p>something that was missing in her, I suppose. That must have been</p><p>what got her interested in me to begin with. I believe that now,</p><p>looking back. And I'm not boasting."</p><p>"No, I think I know what you mean."</p><p>"She had brought some music with her and asked if she could play for</p><p>me. So I let her. It was a Bach invention. Her performance was ...</p><p>interesting. Or should I say strange? It just wasn't ordinary. Of course</p><p>it wasn't polished. She hadn't been going to a professional school, and</p><p>what lessons she had taken had been an on-and-off kind of thing; she</p><p>was very much self-taught. Her sound was untrained. She'd have been</p><p>rejected immediately at a music-school audition. But she made it</p><p>work. Although 90 per cent was just terrible, the other 10 per cent was</p><p>there: she made it sing: it was music. And this was a Bach invention!</p><p>So I got interested in her. I wanted to know what she was all about.</p><p>"Needless to say, the world is full of kids who can play Bach far better</p><p>than she could. Twenty times better. But most of their performances</p><p>would have nothing to them. They'd be hollow, empty. This girl's</p><p>technique was bad, but she had that little bit of something that could</p><p>150</p><p>draw people - or draw me, at least - into her performance. So I decided</p><p>it might be worthwhile to teach her. Of course, retraining her at that</p><p>point to where she could become a pro was out of the question. But I</p><p>felt it might be possible to make her into the kind of happy pianist I</p><p>was then - and still am - someone who could enjoy making music for</p><p>herself. This turned out to be an empty hope, though. She was not the</p><p>kind of person who quietly goes about doing things for herself. This</p><p>was a child who would make detailed calculations to use every means</p><p>at her disposal to impress other people. She knew exactly what she</p><p>had to do to make people admire and praise her. And she knew exactly</p><p>what kind of performance it would take to draw me in. She had</p><p>calculated everything, I'm sure, and put everything she had into</p><p>practising the most important passages over and over again for my</p><p>benefit. I can see her doing it.</p><p>"Still, even now, after all of this came clear to me, I believe it was a</p><p>wonderful performance and I would feel the same chills down my</p><p>spine if I could hear it again. Knowing all I know about her flaws, her</p><p>cunning and lies, I would still feel it. I'm telling you, there are such</p><p>things in this world."</p><p>Reiko cleared her throat with a dry rasp and broke off.</p><p>"So, did you take her as a pupil?" I asked.</p><p>"Yeah. One lesson a week. Saturday mornings. Saturday was a day off</p><p>at her school. She never missed a lesson, she was never late, she was</p><p>an ideal pupil. She always practised for her lessons. After every</p><p>lesson, we'd have some cake and chat."</p><p>At that point, Reiko looked at her watch as if suddenly remembering</p><p>something.</p><p>"Don't you think we should be getting back to the room? I'm a little</p><p>worried about Naoko. I'm sure you haven't forgotten about her now,</p><p>have you?"</p><p>"Of course not," I laughed. "It's just that I was drawn into your story."</p><p>"If you'd like to hear the rest, I'll tell it to you tomorrow. It's a long</p><p>151</p><p>story - too long for one sitting." "You're a regular Scheherazade."</p><p>"I know," she said, joining her laughter with mine. "You'll never get</p><p>back to Tokyo."</p><p>We retraced our steps through the path in the woods and returned to</p><p>the flat. The candles had been extinguished and the living room lights</p><p>were out. The bedroom door was open and the lamp on the night table</p><p>was on, its pale light spilling into the living room. Naoko sat alone on</p><p>the sofa in the gloom. She had changed into a loose-fitting blue gown,</p><p>its collar pulled tight about her neck, her legs folded under her on the</p><p>sofa. Reiko approached her and rested a hand on her crown.</p><p>"Are you all right now?"</p><p>"I'm fine. Sorry," answered Naoko in a tiny voice. Then she turned</p><p>towards me and repeated her apology. "I must have scared you."</p><p>"A little," I said with a smile.</p><p>"Come here," she said. When I sat down next to her, Naoko, her legs</p><p>still folded, leaned towards me until her face was nearly touching my</p><p>ear, as though she were about to share a secret with me. Then she</p><p>planted a soft kiss by my ear.</p><p>"Sorry," she said once more, this time directly into my ear, her voice</p><p>subdued. Then she moved away from me.</p><p>"Sometimes," she said, "I get so confused, I don't know what's</p><p>happening."</p><p>"That happens to me all the time," I said.</p><p>Naoko smiled and looked at me.</p><p>"If you don't mind," I said, "I'd like to hear more about you. About</p><p>your life here. What you do every day. The people you meet."</p><p>Naoko talked about her daily routine in this place, speaking in short</p><p>but crystal clear phrases. Wake up at six in the morning. Breakfast in</p><p>the flat. Clean out the aviary. Then usually farm work. She took care</p><p>of the vegetables. Before or after lunch, she would have either an</p><p>hour-long session with her doctor or a group discussion. In the</p><p>afternoon she could choose from among courses that might interest</p><p>152</p><p>her, outside work, or sports. She had taken several courses: French,</p><p>knitting, piano, ancient history.</p><p>"Reiko is teaching me piano," she said. "She also teaches guitar. We</p><p>all take turns as pupils or teachers. Somebody with fluent French</p><p>teaches French, one person who used to be in social studies teaches</p><p>history, another good at knitting teaches knitting: that's a pretty</p><p>impressive school right there. Unfortunately, I don't have anything I</p><p>can teach anyone."</p><p>"Neither do I," I said.</p><p>"I put a lot more energy into my studies here than I ever did in</p><p>university. I work hard and enjoy it - a lot."</p><p>"What do you do after supper?"</p><p>"Talk with Reiko, read, listen to records, go to other people's flats and</p><p>play games, stuff like that."</p><p>"I do guitar practice and write my autobiography," said Reiko.</p><p>"Autobiography?"</p><p>"Just kidding," Reiko laughed. "We go to bed around ten. Pretty</p><p>healthy lifestyle, wouldn't you say? We sleep like babies."</p><p>I looked at my watch. It was a few minutes before nine. "I guess you'll</p><p>be getting sleepy soon."</p><p>"That's OK. We can stay up late today," said Naoko. "I haven't seen</p><p>you in such a long time, I want to talk more. So talk."</p><p>"When I was alone before, all of a sudden I started thinking about the</p><p>old days," I said. "Do you remember when Kizuki and I came to visit</p><p>you at the hospital? The one on the seashore. I think it was the first</p><p>year of the sixth-form."</p><p>"When I had the chest operation," Naoko said with a smile. "Sure, I</p><p>remember. You and Kizuki came on a motorbike. You brought me a</p><p>box of chocolates and they were all melted together. They were so</p><p>hard to eat! I don't know, it seems like such a long time ago."</p><p>"Yeah, really. I think you were writing a poem then, a long one."</p><p>"All girls write poems at that age," Naoko tittered. "What reminded</p><p>153</p><p>you of that all of a sudden?"</p><p>"I wonder. The smell of the sea wind, the oleanders: before I knew it,</p><p>they just popped into my head. Did Kizuki come to see you at the</p><p>hospital a lot?"</p><p>"No way! We had a big fight about that afterwards. He came once,</p><p>and then he came with you, and that was it for him. He was terrible.</p><p>And that first time he couldn't sit still and he only stayed about ten</p><p>minutes. He brought me some oranges and mumbled all this stuff I</p><p>couldn't understand, and he peeled an orange for me and mumbled</p><p>more stuff and he was out of there. He said he had a thing about</p><p>hospitals."</p><p>Naoko laughed. "He was always a kid about that kind of stuff. I mean,</p><p>nobody likes hospitals, right? That's why people visit people in</p><p>hospitals to make them feel better, and perk up their spirits and stuff.</p><p>But Kizuki just didn't get it."</p><p>"He wasn't so bad when the two of us came to see you, though. He</p><p>was just his usual self."</p><p>"Because you were there," said Naoko. "He was always like that</p><p>around you. He struggled to keep his weaknesses hidden. I'm sure he</p><p>was very fond of you. He made a point of letting you see only his best</p><p>side. He wasn't like that with me. He'd let his guard down. He could</p><p>be really moody. One minute he'd be chattering away, and the next</p><p>he'd be depressed. It happened all the time. He was like that from the</p><p>time he was little. He did keep trying to change himself, to improve</p><p>himself, though."</p><p>Naoko re-crossed her legs on the sofa.</p><p>"He tried hard, but it didn't do any good, and that would make him</p><p>really angry and sad. There was so much about him that was fine and</p><p>beautiful, but he could never find the confidence he needed. "I've got</p><p>to do that, I've got to change this,' he was always thinking, right up to</p><p>the end. Poor Kizuki!"</p><p>"Still," I said, "if it's true that he was always struggling to show me his</p><p>154</p><p>best side, I'd say he succeeded. His best side was all that I could see."</p><p>Naoko smiled. "He'd be thrilled if he could hear you say that. You</p><p>were his only friend."</p><p>"And Kizuki was my only friend," I said. "There was never anybody I</p><p>could really call a friend, before him or after him."</p><p>"That's why I loved being with the two of you. His best side was all</p><p>that I could see then, too. I could relax and stop worrying when the</p><p>three of us were together. Those were my favourite times. I don't</p><p>know how you felt about it."</p><p>"I used to worry about what you were thinking," I said, giving my</p><p>head a shake.</p><p>"The problem was that that kind of thing couldn't go on for ever," said</p><p>Naoko. "Such perfect little circles are impossible to maintain. Kizuki</p><p>knew it, and I knew it, and so did you. Am I right?"</p><p>I nodded.</p><p>"To tell you the truth, though," Naoko went on, "I loved his weak side,</p><p>too. I loved it as much as I loved his good side. There was absolutely</p><p>nothing mean or underhand about him. He was weak: that's all. I tried</p><p>to tell him that, but he wouldn't believe me. He'd always tell me it was</p><p>because we had been together since we were three. I knew him too</p><p>well, he'd say: I couldn't tell the difference between his strong points</p><p>and his flaws, they were all the same to me. He couldn't change my</p><p>mind about him, though. I went on loving him just the same, and I</p><p>could never be interested in anyone else."</p><p>Naoko looked at me with a sad smile.</p><p>"Our boy-girl relationship was really unusual, too. It was as if we</p><p>were physically joined somewhere. If we happened to be apart, some</p><p>special gravitational force would pull us back together again. It was</p><p>the most natural thing in the world when we became boyfriend and</p><p>girlfriend. It was nothing we had to think about or make any choices</p><p>about. We started kissing at 12 and petting at 13. I'd go to his room or</p><p>155</p><p>he'd come to my room and I'd finish him off with my hands. It never</p><p>occurred to me that we were being precocious. It just happened as a</p><p>matter of course. If he wanted to play with my breasts or pussy, I</p><p>didn't mind at all, or if he had cum he wanted to get rid of, I didn't</p><p>mind helping him with that, either. I'm sure it would have shocked us</p><p>both if someone had accused us of doing anything wrong. Because we</p><p>weren't.</p><p>We were just doing what we were supposed to do. We had always</p><p>shown each other every part of our bodies. It was almost as if we</p><p>owned each other's bodies jointly. For a while, at least, we made sure</p><p>we didn't go any further than that, though. We were afraid of my</p><p>getting pregnant, and had almost no idea at that point of how to go</p><p>about preventing it ... Anyway, that's how Kizuki and I grew up</p><p>together, hand in hand, an inseparable pair. We had almost no sense of</p><p>the oppressiveness of sex or the anguish that comes with the sudden</p><p>swelling of the ego that ordinary kids experience when they reach</p><p>puberty. We were totally open about sex, and where our egos were</p><p>concerned, the way we absorbed and shared each other's, we had no</p><p>strong awareness of them. Do you see what I mean?"</p><p>"I think so," I said.</p><p>"We couldn't bear to be apart. So if Kizuki had lived, I'm sure we</p><p>would have been together, loving each other, and gradually growing</p><p>unhappy."</p><p>"Unhappy? Why's that?"</p><p>With her fingers, Naoko combed her hair back several times. She had</p><p>taken her hairslide off, which made the hair fall over her face when</p><p>she dropped her head forward.</p><p>"Because we would have had to pay the world back what we owed it,"</p><p>she said, raising her eyes to mine. "The pain of growing up. We didn't</p><p>pay when we should have, so now the bills are due. Which is why</p><p>Kizuki did what he did, and why I'm here. We were like kids who</p><p>grew up naked on a desert island. If we got hungry, we'd just pick a</p><p>156</p><p>banana; if we got lonely, we'd go to sleep in each other's arms. But</p><p>that kind of</p><p>thing doesn't last for ever. We grew up fast and had to</p><p>enter society. Which is why you were so important to us. You were</p><p>the link connecting us with the outside. We were struggling through</p><p>you to fit in with the outside world as best we could. In the end, it</p><p>didn't work, of course."</p><p>I nodded.</p><p>"I wouldn't want you to think that we were using you, though. Kizuki</p><p>really loved you. It just so happened that our connection with you was</p><p>our first connection with anyone else. And it still is. Kizuki may be</p><p>dead, but you are still My only link with the outside world. And just as</p><p>Kizuki loved you, I love you. We never meant to hurt you, but we</p><p>probably did; we probably ended up making a deep wound in your</p><p>heart. It never occurred to us that anything like that might happen."</p><p>Naoko lowered her head again and fell silent.</p><p>"Hey, how about a cup of cocoa?" suggested Reiko.</p><p>"Good. I'd really like some," said Naoko.</p><p>"I'd like to have some of that brandy I brought, if you don't mind," I</p><p>said.</p><p>"Oh, absolutely," said Reiko. "Could I have a sip?" "Sure," I said,</p><p>laughing.</p><p>Reiko brought out two glasses and we toasted each other. Then she</p><p>went into the kitchen to make cocoa.</p><p>"Can we talk about something a little more cheerful?" asked Naoko.</p><p>I didn't have anything cheerful to talk about. I thought, If only Storm</p><p>Trooper were still around! That guy could inspire a string of stories. A</p><p>few of those would have made everybody feel good. The best I could</p><p>do was talk at length about the filthy habits of the guys in the</p><p>dormitory. I felt sick just talking about something so gross, but Naoko</p><p>and Reiko practically fell over laughing, it was all so new to them.</p><p>Next Reiko did imitations of mental patients. This was a lot of fun,</p><p>too. Naoko started looking sleepy after eleven o'clock, so Reiko let</p><p>157</p><p>down the sofa back and handed me a pillow, sheets and blankets.</p><p>"If you feel like raping anybody in the middle of the night, don't get</p><p>the wrong one," she said. "The unwrinkled body in the left bed is</p><p>Naoko's."</p><p>"Liar! Mine's the right bed," said Naoko.</p><p>Reiko added, "By the way, I arranged for us to skip some of our</p><p>afternoon schedule. Why don't the three of us have a little picnic? I</p><p>know a really nice place close by."</p><p>"Good idea," I said.</p><p>The women took turns brushing their teeth and withdrew to the</p><p>bedroom. I poured myself some brandy and stretched out on the sofa</p><p>bed, going over the day's events from morning to night. It felt like an</p><p>awfully long day. The room continued to glow white in the moonlight.</p><p>Aside from the occasional slight creak of a bed, hardly a sound came</p><p>from the bedroom where Naoko and Reiko lay sleeping. Tiny</p><p>diagrammatic shapes seemed to float in the darkness when I closed</p><p>my eyes, and my ears sensed the lingering reverberation of Reiko's</p><p>guitar, but neither of these lasted for long. Sleep came and carried me</p><p>into a mass of warm mud. I dreamed of willows. Both sides of a</p><p>mountain road were lined with willows. An incredible number of</p><p>willows. A fairly stiff breeze was blowing, but the branches of the</p><p>willow trees never swayed. Why should that be? I wondered, and then</p><p>I saw that every branch of every tree had tiny birds clinging to it.</p><p>Their weight kept the branches from stirring. I grabbed a stick and hit</p><p>a nearby branch with it, hoping to chase away the birds and allow the</p><p>branch to sway. But they would not leave. Instead of flying away, they</p><p>turned into bird-shaped metal chunks that crashed to the ground.</p><p>When I opened my eyes, I felt as if I were seeing the continuation of</p><p>my dream. The moonlight filled the room with the same soft white</p><p>glow. As if by reflex, I sat up in bed and started searching for the</p><p>metal birds, which of course were not there. What I saw instead was</p><p>Naoko at the foot of the bed, sitting still and alone, staring out through</p><p>158</p><p>the window. She had drawn her knees up and was resting her chin on</p><p>them, looking like a hungry orphan. I searched for the watch I had left</p><p>by my pillow, but it was not in the place where I knew it should be. I</p><p>guessed from the angle of the moonlight that the time must be two or</p><p>three o'clock in the morning. I felt a violent thirst but I decided to keep</p><p>still and continue watching Naoko. She was wearing the same blue</p><p>nightdress I had seen her in earlier, and on one side her hair was held</p><p>in place by the butterfly hairslide, revealing the beauty of her face in</p><p>the moonlight. Strange, I thought, she had taken the slide off before</p><p>going to bed.</p><p>Naoko stayed frozen in place, like a small nocturnal animal that has</p><p>been lured out by the moonlight. The direction of the glow</p><p>exaggerated the silhouette of her lips. Seeming utterly fragile and</p><p>vulnerable, the silhouette pulsed almost imperceptibly with the</p><p>beating of her heart or the motions of her inner heart, as if she were</p><p>whispering soundless words to the darkness.</p><p>I swallowed in hopes of easing my thirst, but in the stillness of the</p><p>night the sound I made was huge. As if this were a signal to her,</p><p>Naoko stood and glided towards the head of the bed, gown rustling</p><p>faintly. She knelt on the floor by my pillow, eyes fixed on mine. I</p><p>stared back at her, but her eyes told me nothing. Strangely transparent,</p><p>they seemed like windows to a world beyond, but however long I</p><p>peered into their depths, there was nothing I could see. Our faces were</p><p>no more than ten inches apart, but she was light years away from me.</p><p>I reached out and tried to touch her, but Naoko drew back, lips</p><p>trembling faintly. A moment later, she brought her hands</p><p>up and began slowly to undo the buttons of her gown. There were</p><p>seven in all. I felt as if it were the continuation of my dream as I</p><p>watched her slim, lovely fingers opening the buttons one by one from</p><p>top to bottom. Seven small, white buttons: when she had unfastened</p><p>them all, Naoko slipped the gown from her shoulders and threw it off</p><p>completely like an insect shedding its skin. She had been wearing</p><p>159</p><p>nothing under the gown. All she had on was the butterfly hairslide.</p><p>Naked now, and still kneeling by the bed, she looked at me. Bathed in</p><p>the soft light of the moon, Naoko's body had the heartbreaking lustre</p><p>of newborn flesh. When she moved - and she did so almost</p><p>imperceptibly - the play of light and shadow on her body shifted</p><p>subtly. The swelling roundness of her breasts, her tiny nipples, the</p><p>indentation of her navel, her hipbones and pubic hair, all cast grainy</p><p>shadows, the shapes of which kept changing like ripples spreading</p><p>over the calm surface of a lake.</p><p>What perfect flesh! I thought. When had Naoko come to possess such</p><p>a perfect body? What had happened to the body I held in my arms that</p><p>night last spring?</p><p>A sense of imperfection had been what Naoko's body had given me</p><p>that night as I tenderly undressed her while she cried. Her breasts had</p><p>seemed hard, the nipples oddly jutting, the hips strangely rigid. She</p><p>was a beautiful girl, of course, her body marvellous and alluring. It</p><p>aroused me that night and swept me along with a gigantic force. But</p><p>still, as I held her and caressed her and kissed her naked flesh, I felt a</p><p>strange and powerful awareness of the imbalance and awkwardness of</p><p>the human body. Holding Naoko in my arms, I wanted to explain to</p><p>her, "I am having sex with you now. I am inside you. But really this is</p><p>nothing. It doesn't matter. It is nothing but the joining of two bodies.</p><p>All we are doing is telling each other things that can only be told by</p><p>the rubbing together of two imperfect lumps of flesh. By doing this,</p><p>we are sharing our imperfection." But of course I could never have</p><p>said such a thing with any hope of being understood. I just went on</p><p>holding her tightly. And as I did so, I was able to feel inside her body</p><p>some kind of stony foreign matter, something extra that I could never</p><p>draw close to. And that sensation both filled my heart for Naoko and</p><p>gave my erection a terrifying intensity.</p><p>The body that Naoko revealed before me now, though, was</p><p>nothing</p><p>like the one I had held that night. This flesh had been through many</p><p>160</p><p>changes to be reborn in utter perfection beneath the light of the moon.</p><p>All signs of girlish plumpness had been stripped away since Kizuki's</p><p>death to be replaced by the flesh of a mature woman. So perfect was</p><p>Naoko's physical beauty now that it aroused nothing sexual in me. I</p><p>could only stare, astounded, at the lovely curve from waist to hips, the</p><p>rounded richness of the breasts, the gentle movement with each breath</p><p>of the slim belly and the soft, black pubic shadow beneath.</p><p>She exposed her nakedness to me this way for perhaps five minutes</p><p>until, at last, she wrapped herself in her gown once more and buttoned</p><p>it from top to bottom. As soon as the final button was in place, she</p><p>rose and glided towards the bedroom, silently opened the door, and</p><p>disappeared.</p><p>I stayed rooted to the spot for a very long time until it occurred to me</p><p>to leave the bed. I retrieved my watch from where it had fallen on the</p><p>floor and turned it towards the light of the moon. It was 3.40. I went to</p><p>the kitchen and drank a few glasses of water before stretching out in</p><p>bed again, but sleep never came until the morning sunlight crept into</p><p>every corner of the room, dissolving all traces of the moon's pale</p><p>glow.</p><p>I was somewhere on the edge of sleep when Reiko came and slapped</p><p>me on the cheek, shouting, "Morning! Morning!"</p><p>While Reiko straightened out my sofa bed, Naoko went to the kitchen</p><p>and started making breakfast. She smiled at me and said "Good</p><p>morning".</p><p>"Good morning," I replied. I stood by and watched her as she put on</p><p>water to boil and sliced some bread, humming all the while, but I</p><p>could sense nothing in her manner to suggest that she had revealed her</p><p>naked body to me the night before.</p><p>"Your eyes are red," she said to me as she poured the coffee. "Are you</p><p>OK?"</p><p>"I woke up in the middle of the night and couldn't get back to sleep."</p><p>"I bet we were snoring," said Reiko.</p><p>161</p><p>"Not at all," I said.</p><p>"That's good," said Naoko.</p><p>"He's just being polite," said Reiko, yawning.</p><p>At first I thought that Naoko was embarrassed or acting innocent for</p><p>Reiko, but her behaviour remained unchanged when Reiko</p><p>momentarily left the room, and her eyes had their usual transparent</p><p>look.</p><p>"How'd you sleep?" I asked Naoko.</p><p>"Like a log," she answered with ease. She wore a simple hairpin</p><p>without any kind of decoration.</p><p>I didn't know what to make of this, and I continued to feel that way all</p><p>through breakfast. Buttering my bread or peeling my egg, I kept</p><p>glancing across the table at Naoko, in search of a sign.</p><p>"Why do you keep looking at me like that?" she asked with a smile.</p><p>"I think he's in love with somebody," said Reiko.</p><p>"Are you in love with somebody?" Naoko asked me.</p><p>"Could be," I said, returning her smile. When the two women started</p><p>joking around at my expense, I gave up trying to think about what had</p><p>happened in the night and concentrated on my bread and coffee.</p><p>After breakfast, Reiko and Naoko said they would be going to feed the</p><p>birds in the aviary. I volunteered to go along. They changed into jeans</p><p>and work shirts and white rubber boots. Set in a little park behind the</p><p>tennis courts, the aviary had everything in it from chickens and</p><p>pigeons to peacocks and parrots and was surrounded by flowerbeds,</p><p>shrubberies and benches. Two men in their forties, also apparently</p><p>sanatorium patients, were raking up leaves that had fallen in the</p><p>pathways. The women walked over to say good morning to the pair,</p><p>and Reiko made them laugh with another of her jokes. Cosmos were</p><p>blooming in the flowerbeds, and the shrubberies were extremely well</p><p>manicured. Spotting Reiko, the birds started chattering and flying</p><p>about inside the cage.</p><p>The women entered the shed by the cage and came out with a bag of</p><p>162</p><p>feed and a garden hose. Naoko screwed the hose to a tap and turned</p><p>on the water. Taking care to prevent any birds from flying out, the two</p><p>of them slipped into the cage, Naoko hosing down the dirt and Reiko</p><p>scrubbing the floor of the cage with a deck brush. The spray sparkled</p><p>in the glare of the morning sun. The peacocks flapped around the cage</p><p>to avoid getting splashed. A turkey raised its head and glowered at me</p><p>like a crotchety old man, while a parrot on the perch above screeched</p><p>its displeasure and beat its wings. Reiko meowed at the parrot, which</p><p>slunk over to the far corner but soon was calling: "Thank you!"</p><p>"Crazy!" "Shithead!"</p><p>"I wonder who taught him that kind of language?" said Naoko with a</p><p>sigh.</p><p>"Not me," said Reiko. "I would never do such a thing." She started</p><p>meowing again, and the parrot shut up.</p><p>Laughing, Reiko explained, "This guy once had a run-in with a cat.</p><p>Now he's scared to death of them."</p><p>When they had finished cleaning, the two set down their tools and</p><p>went around filling each of the feeders. Splashing its way through</p><p>puddles on the floor, the turkey darted to its feed box and plunged its</p><p>head in, too obsessed with eating to be bothered by Naoko's smacks</p><p>on its tail.</p><p>"Do you do this every morning?" I asked Naoko.</p><p>"Every morning!" she said. "They usually give this job to new women.</p><p>It's so easy. Like to see the rabbits?"</p><p>"Sure," I said. The rabbit hutch was behind the aviary. Some ten</p><p>rabbits lay inside, asleep in the straw. Naoko swept up their droppings,</p><p>put feed in their box, and picked up one of the babies, rubbing it</p><p>against her cheek.</p><p>"Isn't it precious?" she gushed. She let me hold it. The warm, little ball</p><p>of fur cringed in my arms, twitching its nose.</p><p>"Don't worry, he won't hurt you," she said to the rabbit, stroking its</p><p>head with her finger and smiling at me. It was such a radiant smile,</p><p>163</p><p>without a trace of shadow, that I couldn't help smiling myself. And</p><p>what about Naoko last night? I wondered. I knew for certain that it</p><p>had been the real Naoko and not a dream: she had definitely taken her</p><p>clothes off and shown her naked body to me.</p><p>Reiko whistled a lovely rendition of "Proud Mary" as she stuffed a</p><p>plastic bag with the debris they had gathered and tied the opening. I</p><p>helped them carry the tools and feed bag to the shed.</p><p>"Morning is my favourite time of day," said Naoko. "It's like</p><p>everything's starting out fresh and new. I begin to get sad around noon</p><p>time, and I hate it when the sun goes down. I live with those same</p><p>feelings clay aster day.</p><p>"And while you're living with those feelings, you youngsters get old</p><p>just like me," said Reiko with a smile. "You're thinking about how it's</p><p>morning now or night and the next thing you know, you're old."</p><p>"But you like getting old," said Naoko.</p><p>"Not really," said Reiko. "But I sure don't wish I was young again."</p><p>"Why not?" I asked.</p><p>"Because it's such a pain in the neck!" she said. Then she tossed her</p><p>broom in and closed the door of the shed, whistling "Proud Mary" all</p><p>the while.</p><p>Back at the flat, the women changed their boots for tennis shoes and</p><p>said they were going to the farm. Reiko suggested I stayed behind</p><p>with a book or something because the work would be no fun to watch</p><p>and they would be doing it as part of a group. "And while you're</p><p>waiting you can wash the pile of dirty underwear we left by the sink,"</p><p>she added.</p><p>"You're kidding," I said, taken aback.</p><p>"Of course I am," she laughed. "You're so sweet. Isn't he, Naoko?"</p><p>"He really is," said Naoko, laughing with her.</p><p>"I'll work on my German," I said with a sigh.</p><p>"Yeah, do your homework like a good boy," said Reiko.</p><p>164</p><p>"We'll be back before lunch."</p><p>The two of them went out tittering. I heard the footsteps and voices of</p><p>a number of people walking by downstairs.</p><p>I went into the bathroom and washed my face again, then borrowed a</p><p>nail clipper and trimmed my nails. For a bathroom that was being</p><p>shared by two women, its contents were incredibly simple. Aside from</p><p>some neatly arranged bottles</p><p>of cleansing cream and lip moisturizer and sun block, there was</p><p>almost nothing that could be called cosmetics. When I finished</p><p>trimming my nails, I made myself some coffee and drank it at the</p><p>kitchen table, German book open. Stripping down to a T-shirt in the</p><p>sun-filled kitchen, I had set about memorizing all the forms in a</p><p>grammar chart when I was struck by an odd feeling. It seemed to me</p><p>that the longest imaginable distance separated irregular German verb</p><p>forms from this kitchen table.</p><p>The two women came back from the farm at 11.30, took turns in the</p><p>shower, and changed into fresh clothes. The three of us went to the</p><p>dining hall for lunch, then walked to the front gate. This time the</p><p>guardhouse had a man on duty. He was sitting at his desk, enjoying a</p><p>lunch that must have been brought to him from the dining hall. The</p><p>transistor radio on the shelf was playing a sentimental old pop tune.</p><p>He waved to us with a friendly "Hi" as we approached, and we</p><p>hello'ed him back.</p><p>Reiko explained to him that we were going to walk outside the</p><p>grounds and return in three hours.</p><p>"Great," he said. "You're lucky with the weather. Just stay away from</p><p>the valley road, though. It got washed out in that big rain. No problem</p><p>anywhere else."</p><p>Reiko wrote her name and Naoko's in a register along with the date</p><p>and time.</p><p>"Enjoy yourselves," said the guard. "And take care."</p><p>"Nice guy," I said.</p><p>165</p><p>"He's a little strange up here," said Reiko, touching her head.</p><p>He had been right about the weather, though. The sky was a fresh-</p><p>swept blue, with only a trace of white cloud clinging to the dome of</p><p>heaven like a thin streak of test paint. We walked beside the low stone</p><p>wall of Ami Hostel for a time, then moved away to climb a steep,</p><p>narrow trail in single file. Reiko led the way, with Naoko in the</p><p>middle and me bringing up the rear. Reiko climbed with the confident</p><p>stride of one who knew every stretch of every mountain in the area.</p><p>We concentrated on walking, with hardly a word among us. Naoko</p><p>wore blue jeans and a white blouse and carried her jacket in one hand.</p><p>I watched her long, straight hair swaying right and left where it met</p><p>her shoulders. She would glance back at me now and then, smiling</p><p>when our eyes met. The trail continued upwards so far that it was</p><p>almost dizzying, but Reiko's pace never slackened. Naoko hurried to</p><p>keep up with her, wiping the sweat from her face. Not having indulged</p><p>in such outdoor activities for some time, I found myself running short</p><p>of breath.</p><p>"Do you do this a lot?" I asked Naoko.</p><p>"Maybe once a week," she answered. "Having a tough time?"</p><p>"Kind of," I said.</p><p>"We're almost there," said Reiko. "This is about two-thirds of the way.</p><p>Come on, you're a boy, aren't you?" "Yeah, but I'm out of shape."</p><p>"Playing with girls all the time," muttered Naoko, as if to herself.</p><p>I wanted to answer her, but I was too winded to speak. Every now and</p><p>then, red birds with tufts on their heads would flit across our path,</p><p>brilliant against the blue sky. The fields around us were filled with</p><p>white and blue and yellow flowers, and bees buzzed everywhere.</p><p>Moving ahead one step at a time, I thought of nothing but the scene</p><p>passing before my eyes.</p><p>The slope gave out after another ten minutes, and we gained a level</p><p>plateau. We rested there, wiping the sweat off, catching</p><p>our breath and drinking from our water bottles. Reiko found a leaf and</p><p>166</p><p>used it to make a whistle.</p><p>The trail entered a gentle downward slope amid tall, waving thickets</p><p>of plume grass. We walked on for some 15 minutes before passing</p><p>through a village. There were no signs of humanity here, and the</p><p>dozen or so houses were all in varying states of decay. Waist-high</p><p>grass grew among the houses, and dry, white gobs of pigeon</p><p>droppings clung to holes in the walls. Only the pillars survived in the</p><p>case of one collapsed building, while others looked ready to be lived</p><p>in as soon as you opened the storm shutters. These dead, silent houses</p><p>pressed against either side of the road as we slipped through.</p><p>"People lived in this village until seven or eight years ago," Reiko</p><p>informed me. "This was farmland around here. But they all cleared</p><p>out. Life was just too hard. They'd be trapped when the snow piled up</p><p>in the winter. And the soil isn't particularly fertile. They could make a</p><p>better living in the city."</p><p>"What a waste," I said. "Some of the houses look perfectly usable."</p><p>"Some hippies tried living here at one point, but they gave up.</p><p>Couldn't take the winters."</p><p>A little beyond the village we came to a big fenced area that seemed to</p><p>be a pasture. Far away on the other side, I caught sight of a few horses</p><p>grazing. We followed the fence line, and a big dog came running over</p><p>to us, tail wagging. It stood up leaning on Reiko, sniffing her face,</p><p>then jumped playfully on Naoko. I whistled and it came over to me,</p><p>licking my hand with its long tongue.</p><p>Naoko patted the dog's head and explained that the animal belonged to</p><p>the pasture. "I'll bet he's close to 20," she said. "His teeth are so bad,</p><p>he can't eat anything hard. He sleeps in front of the shop all day, and</p><p>he comes running when he hears footsteps."</p><p>Reiko took a scrap of cheese from her rucksack. Catching its scent, the</p><p>dog bounded over to her and chomped down on it.</p><p>"We won't be able to see this fellow much longer," said Reiko, patting</p><p>the dog's head. "In the middle of October they put the horses and cows</p><p>167</p><p>in trucks and take 'em down to the barn. The only time they let 'em</p><p>graze is the summer, when they open a little café kind of thing for the</p><p>tourists. The "tourists'! Maybe 20 hikers in a day. Hey, how about</p><p>something to drink?"</p><p>"Good idea," I said.</p><p>The dog led the way to the café, a small, white house with a front</p><p>porch and a faded sign in the shape of a coffee cup hanging from the</p><p>eaves. He led us up the steps and stretched out on the porch,</p><p>narrowing his eyes. When we took our places around a table on the</p><p>porch, a girl with a ponytail and wearing a sweatshirt and white jeans</p><p>came out and greeted Reiko and Naoko like old friends.</p><p>"This is a friend of Naoko's," said Reiko, introducing me. "Hi," she</p><p>said.</p><p>"Hi," I answered.</p><p>While the three women traded small talk, I stroked the neck of the dog</p><p>under the table. It had the hard, stringy neck of an old dog. When I</p><p>scratched the lumpy spots, the dog closed his eyes and sighed with</p><p>pleasure.</p><p>"What's his name?" I asked the girl.</p><p>"Pepé," she said.</p><p>"Hey, Pepé," I said to the dog, but he didn't budge.</p><p>"He's hard of hearing," said the girl. "You have to speak up or he can't</p><p>hear."</p><p>"Pepé!" I shouted. The dog opened his eyes and snapped to attention</p><p>with a bark.</p><p>"Never mind, Pepé," said the girl. "Sleep more and live longer." Pepé</p><p>flopped down again at my feet.</p><p>Naoko and Reiko ordered cold glasses of milk and I asked for a beer.</p><p>"Let's hear the radio," said Reiko. The girl switched on an amplifier</p><p>and tuned into an FM station. Blood, Sweat and Tears came on with</p><p>"Spinning Wheel".</p><p>Reiko looked pleased. "Now this is what we're here for! We don't have</p><p>168</p><p>radios in our rooms, so if I don't come here once in a while, I don't</p><p>have any idea what's playing out there."</p><p>"Do you sleep in this place?" I asked the girl.</p><p>"No way!" she laughed. "I'd die of loneliness if I spent the night here.</p><p>The pasture guy drives me into town and I come out again in the</p><p>morning." She pointed at a four-wheel drive truck parked in front of</p><p>the nearby pasture office.</p><p>"You've got a holiday coming up soon, too, right?" asked Reiko.</p><p>"Yeah, we'll be shutting up this place soon," said the girl. Reiko</p><p>offered her a cigarette, and they smoked.</p><p>"I'll miss you," said Reiko.</p><p>"I'll be back in May, though," said the girl with a laugh.</p><p>Cream came on the radio with "White Room". After a commercial, it</p><p>was Simon and Garfunkel's "Scarborough Fair".</p><p>"I like that," said Reiko when it was over.</p><p>"I saw the film," I said.</p><p>"Who's in it?"</p><p>"Dustin Hoffman."</p><p>"I don't know him," she said with a sad little shake of the head. "The</p><p>world changes like mad, and I don't know what's happening." She</p><p>asked the girl for</p><p>a student, though you would think he must have been, given the</p><p>uniform - which quickly became his nickname. In contrast to Sir</p><p>Nakano, "Uniform" was short, pudgy and pasty-faced. This creepy</p><p>couple would raise the banner of the Rising Sun every morning at six.</p><p>When I first entered the dormitory, the sheer novelty of the event</p><p>would often prompt me to get up early to observe this patriotic ritual.</p><p>The two would appear in the quadrangle at almost the exact moment</p><p>the radio beeped the six o'clock signal. Uniform was wearing his</p><p>uniform, of course, with black leather shoes, and Nakano wore a short</p><p>jacket and white trainers. Uniform held a ceremonial box of untreated</p><p>paulownia wood, while Nakano carried a Sony tape recorder at his</p><p>side. He placed this at the base of the flagpole, while Uniform opened</p><p>the box to reveal a neatly folded banner. This he reverentially</p><p>proffered to Nakano, who would clip it to the rope on the flagpole,</p><p>revealing the bright red circle of the Rising Sun on a field of pure</p><p>white. Then Uniform pressed the switch for the playing of the anthem.</p><p>"May Our Lord's Reign..."</p><p>And up the flag would climb.</p><p>"Until pebbles turn to boulders ..." It would reach halfway up the pole.</p><p>"And be covered with moss."</p><p>17</p><p>Now it was at the top. The two stood to attention, rigid, looking up at</p><p>the flag, which was quite a sight on clear days when the wind was</p><p>blowing.</p><p>The lowering of the flag at dusk was carried out with the same</p><p>ceremonial reverence, but in reverse. Down the banner would come</p><p>and find its place in the box. The national flag did not fly at night.</p><p>I didn't know why the flag had to be taken down at night. The nation</p><p>continued to exist while it was dark, and plenty of people worked all</p><p>night - railway construction crews and taxi drivers and bar hostesses</p><p>and firemen and night watchmen: it seemed unfair to me that such</p><p>people were denied the protection of the flag. Or maybe it didn't</p><p>matter all that much and nobody really cared - aside from me. Not that</p><p>I really cared, either. It was just something that happened to cross my</p><p>mind.</p><p>The rules for room assignments put first- and second-year students in</p><p>doubles while third- and final-year students had single rooms. Double</p><p>rooms were a little longer and narrower than nine-by-twelve, with an</p><p>aluminium-framed window in the wall opposite the door and two</p><p>desks by the window arranged so the inhabitants of the room could</p><p>study back-to-back. To the left of the door stood a steel bunk bed. The</p><p>furniture supplied was sturdy and simple and included a pair of</p><p>lockers, a small coffee table, and some built-in shelves. Even the most</p><p>well-disposed observer would have had trouble calling this setting</p><p>poetic. The shelves of most rooms carried such items as transistor</p><p>radios, hairdryers, electric carafes and cookers, instant coffee, tea</p><p>bags, sugar cubes, and simple pots and bowls for preparing instant</p><p>ramen. The walls bore pin-ups from girlie magazines or stolen porno</p><p>movie posters. One guy had a photo of pigs mating, but this was a far-</p><p>out exception to the usual naked women, girl pop singers or actresses.</p><p>Bookshelves on the desks held textbooks, dictionaries and novels.</p><p>The filth of these all-male rooms was horrifying. Mouldy mandarin</p><p>skins clung to the bottoms of waste-paper baskets. Empty cans used</p><p>18</p><p>for ashtrays held mounds of cigarette butts, and when these started to</p><p>smoulder they'd be doused with coffee or beer and left to give off a</p><p>sour stink. Blackish</p><p>grime and bits of indefinable matter clung to all the bowls and dishes</p><p>on the shelves, and the floors were littered with instant ramen</p><p>wrappers and empty beer cans and discarded lids from one thing or</p><p>another. It never occurred to anyone to sweep up and throw these</p><p>things in the bin. Any wind that blew through would raise clouds of</p><p>dust. Each room had its own horrendous smell, but the components of</p><p>that smell were always the same: sweat, body odour and rubbish.</p><p>Dirty clothes would pile up under the beds, and without anyone</p><p>bothering to air the mattresses on a regular basis, these sweat-</p><p>impregnated pads would give off odours beyond redemption. In</p><p>retrospect, it seems amazing that these shitpiles gave rise to no killer</p><p>epidemics.</p><p>My room, on the other hand, was as sanitary as a morgue. The floor</p><p>and window were spotless, the mattresses were aired each week, all</p><p>pencils stood in the pencil holders, and even the curtains were washed</p><p>once a month. My room-mate was a cleanliness freak. None of the</p><p>others in the dorm believed me when I told them about the curtains.</p><p>They didn't know that curtains could be washed. They believed,</p><p>rather, that curtains were semi-permanent parts of the window.</p><p>"There's something wrong with that guy," they'd say, labelling him a</p><p>Nazi or a storm trooper.</p><p>We didn't even have pin-ups. No, we had a photo of a canal in</p><p>Amsterdam. I had put up a nude shot, but my room-mate had pulled it</p><p>down. "Hey, Watanabe," he said, "I-I'm not too crazy about this kind</p><p>of thing," and up went the canal photo instead. I wasn't especially</p><p>attached to the nude, so I didn't protest.</p><p>"What the hell's that?" was the universal reaction to the Amsterdam</p><p>photo whenever any of the other guys came to my room.</p><p>"Oh, Storm Trooper likes to wank looking at this," I said.</p><p>19</p><p>I meant it as a joke, but they all took me seriously - so seriously that I</p><p>began to believe it myself.</p><p>Everybody sympathized with me for having Storm Trooper as a room-</p><p>mate, but I really wasn't that upset about it. He left me alone as long as</p><p>I kept my area clean, and in fact having him as my room-mate made</p><p>things easier for me in many ways. He did all the cleaning, he took</p><p>care of sunning the mattresses, he threw out the rubbish. He'd give a</p><p>sniff and suggest a bath for me if I'd been too busy to wash for a few</p><p>days. He'd even point out when it was time for me to go to the barber's</p><p>or trim my nasal hair. The one thing that bothered me was the way he</p><p>would spray clouds of insecticide if he noticed a single fly in the</p><p>room, because then I had to take refuge in a neighbouring shitpile.</p><p>Storm Trooper was studying geography at a national university.</p><p>As he told me the first time we met, "I'm studying m-m-maps."</p><p>"You like maps?" I asked.</p><p>"Yup. When I graduate, I'm going to work for the Geographical</p><p>Survey Institute and make m-m-maps."</p><p>I was impressed by the variety of dreams and goals that life could</p><p>offer. This was one of the very first new impressions I received when I</p><p>came to Tokyo for the first time. The thought struck me that society</p><p>needed a few people - just a few - who were interested in and even</p><p>passionate about mapmaking. Odd, though, that someone who wanted</p><p>to work for the government's Geographical Survey Institute should</p><p>stutter every time he said the word "map". Storm Trooper often didn't</p><p>stutter at all, except when he pronounced the word "map", for which it</p><p>was a 100 per cent certainty.</p><p>"W what are you studying?" he asked me.</p><p>"Drama," I said.</p><p>"Gonna put on plays?"</p><p>"Nah, just read scripts and do research. Racine, lonesco, Shakespeare,</p><p>stuff like that."</p><p>He said he had heard of Shakespeare but not the others. I hardly knew</p><p>20</p><p>anything about the others myself, I'd just seen their names in lecture</p><p>handouts.</p><p>"You like plays?" he asked.</p><p>"Not especially."</p><p>This confused him, and when he was confused, his stuttering got</p><p>worse. I felt sorry I had done that to him.</p><p>"I could have picked anything," I said. "Ethnology, Asian history. I</p><p>just happened to pick drama, that's all," which was not the most</p><p>convincing explanation I could have come up with.</p><p>"I don't get it," he said, looking as if he really didn't get it. "I like m-</p><p>m-maps, so I decided to come to Tokyo and get my parents to s-send</p><p>me money so I could study m-m-maps. But not you, huh?"</p><p>His approach made more sense than mine. I gave up trying to explain</p><p>myself. Then we drew lots (matchsticks) to choose bunks. He got the</p><p>upper bunk.</p><p>Tall, with a crewcut</p><p>a guitar. "Sure," said the girl, switching off the radio</p><p>and bringing out an old guitar. The dog raised its head and sniffed the</p><p>instrument.</p><p>"You can't eat this," Reiko said with mock sternness. A grass-scented</p><p>breeze swept over the porch. The mountains lay spread out before us,</p><p>the ridge line sharp against the sky.</p><p>"It's like a scene from The Sound of Music," I said to Reiko as she</p><p>tuned up.</p><p>"What's that?" she asked.</p><p>She strummed the guitar in search of the opening chord of</p><p>"Scarborough Fair". This was apparently her first attempt at the song,</p><p>but after a few false starts she could play it through without hesitating.</p><p>169</p><p>She had it down pat the third time and even started adding a few</p><p>flourishes. "Good ear," she said to me with a wink. "I can usually play</p><p>just about anything if I hear it three times."</p><p>Softly humming the melody, she did a full rendition of "Scarborough</p><p>Fair". The three of us applauded, and Reiko responded with a</p><p>decorous bow of the head.</p><p>"I used to get more applause for a Mozart concerto," she said.</p><p>Her milk was on the house if she would play the Beatles' "Here Comes</p><p>the Sun", said the girl. Reiko gave her a thumbs up and launched into</p><p>the song. Hers was not a full voice, and too much smoking had given</p><p>it a husky edge, but it was lovely, with real presence. I almost felt as if</p><p>the sun really was coming up again as I sat there listening and</p><p>drinking beer and looking at the mountains. It was a soft, warm</p><p>feeling.</p><p>Reiko gave back the guitar and asked to hear the radio again. Then she</p><p>suggested to Naoko and me that we take an hour and walk around the</p><p>area.</p><p>"I want to listen to the radio some more and hang out</p><p>with her. If you come back by three, that should be OK."</p><p>"Is it all right for us to be alone together so long?"</p><p>"Well, actually, it's against the rules, but what the hell. I'm not a</p><p>chaperone, after all. I could use a break. And you came all the way</p><p>from Tokyo, I'm sure there's tons of stuff you want to talk about."</p><p>Reiko lit another cigarette as she spoke.</p><p>"Let's go," said Naoko, standing up.</p><p>I started after her. The dog woke up and followed us for a while, but it</p><p>soon lost interest and went back to its place on the porch. We strolled</p><p>down a level road that followed the pasture fence. Naoko would take</p><p>my hand every now and then or slip her arm under mine.</p><p>"This is kind of like the old days, isn't it?" she said.</p><p>"That wasn't 'the old days'," I laughed. "It was spring of this year! If</p><p>that was 'the old days', ten years ago was ancient history."</p><p>170</p><p>"It feels like ancient history," said Naoko. "But anyway, sorry about</p><p>last night. I don't know, I was a bundle of nerves. I really shouldn't</p><p>have done that after you came here all the way from Tokyo."</p><p>"Never mind," I said. "Both of us have a lot of feelings we need to get</p><p>out in the open. So if you want to take those feelings and smash</p><p>somebody with them, smash me. Then we can understand each other</p><p>better."</p><p>"So if you understand me better, what then?"</p><p>"You don't get it, do you?" I said. "It's not a question of what then'.</p><p>Some people get a kick out of reading railway timetables and that's all</p><p>they do all day. Some people make huge model boats out of</p><p>matchsticks. So what's wrong if there happens to be one guy in the</p><p>world who enjoys trying to understand you?"</p><p>"Kind of like a hobby?" she said, amused.</p><p>"Yeah, I guess you could call it a hobby. Most normal people would</p><p>call it friendship or love or something, but if you want to call it a</p><p>hobby, that's OK, too."</p><p>"Tell me," said Naoko, "you liked Kizuki, too, didn't you?" "Of</p><p>course," I said.</p><p>"How about Reiko?"</p><p>"I like her a lot," I said. "She's really nice."</p><p>"How come you always like people like that - people like us, I mean?</p><p>We're all kind of weird and twisted and drowning - me and Kizuki and</p><p>Reiko. Why can't you like more normal people?"</p><p>"Because I don't see you like that," I said after giving it some thought.</p><p>"I don't see you or Kizuki or Reiko as "twisted' in any way. The guys I</p><p>think of as twisted are out there running around."</p><p>"But we are twisted," said Naoko. "I can see that."</p><p>We walked on in silence. The road left the fence and came out to a</p><p>circular grassy field ringed with trees like a pond.</p><p>"Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night so scared," said</p><p>Naoko, pressing up against my arm. "I'm scared I'll never get better</p><p>171</p><p>again. I'll always stay twisted like this and grow old and waste away</p><p>here. I get so chilled it's like I'm all frozen inside. It's horrible ... so</p><p>cold. .. "</p><p>I put my arm around her and drew her close.</p><p>"I feel like Kizuki is reaching out for me from the darkness,</p><p>calling to me, "Hey, Naoko, we can't stay apart.' When I hear him</p><p>saying that, I don't know what to do." "What do you do?"</p><p>"Well ... don't take this the wrong way, now." "OK, I won't."</p><p>"I ask Reiko to hold me. I wake her up and crawl into her bed and let</p><p>her hold me tight. And I cry. And she strokes me until the ice melts</p><p>and I'm warm again. Do you think it's sick?"</p><p>"No. I wish I could be the one to hold you, though," I said.</p><p>"So hold me. Now. Right here."</p><p>We sat down on the dry grass of the meadow and put our arms around</p><p>each other. The tall grass surrounded us, and we could see nothing but</p><p>the sky and clouds above. I gently lay Naoko down and took her in my</p><p>arms. She was soft and warm and her hands reached out for me. We</p><p>kissed with real feeling.</p><p>"Tell me something, Toru," Naoko whispered in my ear.</p><p>"What's that?" I asked.</p><p>"Do you want to sleep with me?"</p><p>"Of course I do," I said. "Can you wait?" "Of course I can."</p><p>"Before we do it again, I want to get myself a little better. I want to</p><p>make myself into a person more worthy of that hobby of yours. Will</p><p>you wait for me to do that?"</p><p>"Of course I'll wait." "Are you hard now?"</p><p>"You mean the soles of my feet?" "Silly," Naoko tittered.</p><p>"If you're asking whether I have an erection, of course I do." "Will</p><p>you do me a favour and stop saying "Of course'?" "OK, I'll stop."</p><p>"Is it difficult?" "What?"</p><p>"To be all hard like that." "Difficult?"</p><p>"I mean, are you suffering?"</p><p>172</p><p>"Well, it depends how you look at it."</p><p>"Want me to help you get rid of it?"</p><p>"With your hand?"</p><p>"Uh-huh. To tell you the truth," said Naoko, "it's been sticking into me</p><p>ever since we lay down. It hurts." I pulled my hips away. "Better?"</p><p>"Thanks."</p><p>"You know?" I said.</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"I wish you would do it."</p><p>"OK," she said with a kind smile. Then she unzipped my trousers and</p><p>took my stiff penis in her hand. "It's warm," she said.</p><p>She started to move her hand, but I stopped her and unbuttoned her</p><p>blouse, reaching around to undo her bra strap. I kissed her soft, pink</p><p>nipples. She closed her eyes and slowly started moving her fingers.</p><p>"Hey, you're pretty good at that," I said. "Be a good boy and shut up,"</p><p>said Naoko.</p><p>After I came, I held her in my arms and kissed her again. Naoko did</p><p>up her bra and blouse, and I zipped up my flies.</p><p>"Will that make it easier for you to walk?" she asked.</p><p>"I owe it all to you."</p><p>"Well, then, Sir, if it suits you, shall we walk a little farther?"</p><p>"By all means."</p><p>We cut across the meadow, through a stand of trees, and across</p><p>another meadow. Naoko talked about her dead sister, explaining that</p><p>although she had hardly said anything about this to anyone, she felt</p><p>she ought to tell me.</p><p>"She was six years older than me, and our personalities were totally</p><p>different, but still we were very close. We never fought, not once. It's</p><p>true. Of course, with such a big difference in our ages, there was</p><p>nothing much for us to fight about."</p><p>Her sister was one of those girls who are successful at every</p><p>173</p><p>thing - a super-student, a super-athlete, popular, a leader, kind,</p><p>straightforward, the boys liked her, her teachers loved her, her walls</p><p>were covered with certificates of merit. There's always one girl like</p><p>that in any school. "I'm not saying this because she's my sister, but she</p><p>never let any of this spoil her or make her the</p><p>least bit stuck-up or a</p><p>show-off. It's just that, no matter what you gave her to do, she would</p><p>naturally do it better than anyone else.</p><p>"So when I was little, I decided that I was going to be the sweet little</p><p>girl." Naoko twirled a frond of plume grass as she spoke. "I mean, you</p><p>know, I grew up hearing everybody talking about how smart she was</p><p>and how good she was at games and how popular she was. Of course</p><p>I'm going to assume there's no way I could ever compete with her. My</p><p>face, at least, was a little prettier than hers, so I guess my parents</p><p>decided they'd bring me up cute. Right from the start they put me in</p><p>that kind of school. They dressed me in velvet dresses and frilly</p><p>blouses and patent leather shoes and gave me piano lessons and ballet</p><p>lessons. This just made my sister even crazier about me - you know: I</p><p>was her cute little sister. She'd give me these cute little presents and</p><p>take me everywhere with her and help me with my homework. She</p><p>even took me along on dates. She was the best big sister anyone could</p><p>ask for.</p><p>"Nobody knew why she killed herself. The same as Kizuki. Exactly</p><p>the same. She was 17, too, and she never gave the slightest hint she</p><p>was going to commit suicide. She didn't leave a note, either. Really, it</p><p>was exactly the same, don't you think?"</p><p>"Sounds like it."</p><p>"Everybody said she was too smart or she read too many books. And</p><p>she did read a lot. She had tons of books. I read a bunch of them after</p><p>she died, and it was so sad. They had her comments in the margins</p><p>and flowers pressed between the pages and letters from boyfriends,</p><p>and every time I came across something like that I'd cry. I cried a lot."</p><p>Naoko fell silent for a few seconds, twirling the plume grass again.</p><p>174</p><p>"She was the kind of person who took care of things by herself. She'd</p><p>never ask anybody for advice or help. It wasn't a matter of pride, I</p><p>think. She just did what seemed natural to her. My parents were used</p><p>to this and thought she'd be OK if they left her alone. I would go to</p><p>my sister for advice and she was always ready to give it, but she never</p><p>went to anyone else. She did what needed to be done, on her own. She</p><p>never got angry or moody. This is all true, I mean it, I'm not</p><p>exaggerating. Most girls, when they have their period or something,</p><p>will get grumpy and take it out on others, but she never even did that.</p><p>Instead of getting into a bad mood, she would become very subdued.</p><p>Maybe once in two or three months this would happen to her: she'd</p><p>shut herself up in her room and stay in bed, avoid school, hardly eat a</p><p>thing, turn the lights off, and space out. She wouldn't be in a bad</p><p>mood, though. When I came home from school, she'd call me into her</p><p>room and sit me down next to her and ask me about my day. I'd tell</p><p>her all the little things - like what kinds of games I played with my</p><p>friends or what the teacher said or my exam results, stuff like that.</p><p>She'd take in every detail and make comments and suggestions, but as</p><p>soon as I left - to play with a friend, say, or go to a ballet lesson - she'd</p><p>space out again. After two days, she'd snap out of it just like that and</p><p>go to</p><p>school. This kind of thing went on for, I don't know, maybe</p><p>four years. My parents were worried at first and I think they went to a</p><p>doctor for advice, but, I mean, she'd be perfectly fine after two days,</p><p>so they thought it would work itself out if they left her alone, she was</p><p>such a bright, steady girl.</p><p>"After she died, though, I heard my parents talking about a younger</p><p>brother of my father's who had died long before. He had also been</p><p>very bright, but he had stayed shut up in the house for four years -</p><p>from the time he was 17 until he was 21. And then suddenly one day</p><p>he left the house and jumped in front of a train. My father said,</p><p>"Maybe it's in the blood - from my side'."</p><p>175</p><p>While Naoko was speaking, her fingers unconsciously teased the</p><p>tassel of the plume grass, scattering its fibres to the wind. When the</p><p>shaft was bare, she wound it around her fingers.</p><p>"I was the one who found my sister dead," she went on. "In autumn</p><p>when I was in the first year. November. On a dark, rainy day. My</p><p>sister was in the sixth-form at the time. I came home from my piano</p><p>lesson at 6.30 and my mother was making dinner. She told me to tell</p><p>my sister it was ready. I went upstairs and knocked on her door and</p><p>yelled "Dinner's ready', but there was no answer. Her room was</p><p>completely silent. I thought this was strange, so I knocked again,</p><p>opened the door and peeped inside. I thought she was probably</p><p>sleeping. She wasn't in bed, though. She was standing by the window,</p><p>staring outside, with her neck bent at a kind of angle like this, like she</p><p>was thinking. The room was dark, the lights were out, and it was hard</p><p>to see anything. "What are you doing?' I said to her. "Dinner is ready.'</p><p>That's when I noticed that she looked taller than usual. What was</p><p>going on? I wondered: it was so strange! Did she have high heels on?</p><p>Was she standing on something? I moved closer and was just about to</p><p>speak to her again when I saw it: there was a rope above her head. It</p><p>came straight down from a beam in the ceiling - I mean it was</p><p>amazingly straight, like somebody had drawn a line in space with a</p><p>ruler. My sister had a white blouse on - yeah, a simple white blouse</p><p>like this one - and a grey skirt, and her toes were pointing down like a</p><p>ballerina's, except there was a space between the tip of her toes and</p><p>the floor of maybe seven or eight inches. I took in every detail. Her</p><p>face, too. I looked at her face. I couldn't help it. I thought: I've got to</p><p>go right downstairs and tell my mother. I've got to scream. But my</p><p>body ignored me. It moved on its own, separately from my conscious</p><p>mind. It was trying to lower her from the rope while my mind was</p><p>telling me to hurry downstairs. Of course, there was no way a little</p><p>girl could have the strength to do such a thing, and so I just stood</p><p>there, spacing out, for maybe five or six minutes, a total blank, like</p><p>176</p><p>something inside me had died. I just stayed that way, with my sister,</p><p>in that cold, dark place until my mother came up to see what was</p><p>going on."</p><p>Naoko shook her head.</p><p>"For three days after that I couldn't talk. I just lay in bed like a dead</p><p>person, eyes wide open and staring into space. I didn't know what was</p><p>happening." Naoko pressed against my arm. "I told you in my letter,</p><p>didn't I? I'm a far more flawed human being than you realize. My</p><p>sickness is a lot worse than you think: it has far deeper roots. And</p><p>that's why I want you to go on ahead of me if you can. Don't wait for</p><p>me. Sleep with other girls if you want to. Don't let thoughts of me hold</p><p>you back. Just do what you want to do. Otherwise, I might end up</p><p>taking you with me, and that is the one thing I don't want to do. I don't</p><p>want to interfere with your life. I don't want to interfere with</p><p>anybody's life. Like I said before, I want you to come to see me every</p><p>once in a while, and always remember me. That's all I want."</p><p>"It's not all I want, though," I said.</p><p>"You're wasting your life being involved with me." "I'm not wasting</p><p>anything."</p><p>"But I might never recover. Will you wait for me forever?</p><p>Can you wait 10 years, 20 years?"</p><p>"You're letting yourself be scared by too many things," I said. "The</p><p>dark, bad dreams, the power of the dead. You have to forget them. I'm</p><p>sure you'll get well if you do."</p><p>"If I can," said Naoko, shaking her head.</p><p>"If you can get out of this place, will you live with me?" I asked.</p><p>"Then I can protect you from the dark and from bad dreams. Then</p><p>you'd have me instead of Reiko to hold you when things got difficult."</p><p>Naoko pressed still more firmly against me. "That would be</p><p>wonderful," she said.</p><p>We got back to the cafe a little before three. Reiko was reading a book</p><p>177</p><p>and listening to Brahms' Second Piano Concerto on the radio. There</p><p>was something wonderful about Brahms playing at the edge of a</p><p>grassy meadow without</p><p>a sign of anyone as far as the eye could see.</p><p>Reiko was whistling along with the cello passage that begins the third</p><p>movement.</p><p>"Backhaus and Bohm," she said. "I wore this record out once, a long</p><p>time ago. Literally. I wore the grooves out listening to every note. I</p><p>sucked the music right out of it."</p><p>Naoko and I ordered coffee.</p><p>"Do a lot of talking?" asked Reiko.</p><p>"Tons," said Naoko.</p><p>"Tell me all about his, uh, you know, later."</p><p>"We didn't do any of that," said Naoko, reddening. "Really?" Reiko</p><p>asked me. "Nothing?" "Nothing," I said.</p><p>"Bo-o-o-ring!" she said with a bored look on her face. "True," I said,</p><p>sipping my coffee.</p><p>The scene in the dining hall was the same as the day before - the</p><p>mood, the voices, the faces. Only the menu had changed. The balding</p><p>man in white, who yesterday had been talking about the secretion of</p><p>gastric juices under weightless conditions, joined the three of us at our</p><p>table and talked for a long time about the correlation of brain size to</p><p>intelligence. As we ate our soybean burgers, we heard all about the</p><p>volume of Bismarck's brain and Napoleon's. He pushed his plate aside</p><p>and used a ballpoint pen and notepaper to draw sketches of brains. He</p><p>would start to draw, declare "No, that's not quite it", and begin a new</p><p>one. This happened several times. When he had finished, he carefully</p><p>put the remaining notepaper away in a pocket of his white jacket and</p><p>slipped the pen into his breast pocket, in which he kept a total of three</p><p>pens, along with pencils and a ruler. Having finished his meal, he</p><p>repeated what he had told me the day before, "The winters here are</p><p>really nice. Make sure you come back when it's winter," and left the</p><p>178</p><p>dining hall.</p><p>"Is he a doctor or a patient?" I asked Reiko. "Which do you think?"</p><p>"I really can't tell. In either case, he doesn't seem all that normal."</p><p>"He's a doctor," said Naoko. "Doctor Miyata."</p><p>"Yeah," said Reiko, "but I bet he's the craziest one here." "Mr Omura,</p><p>the gatekeeper, is pretty crazy, too," answered</p><p>Naoko.</p><p>"True," said Reiko, nodding as she stabbed her broccoli. "He does</p><p>these wild callisthenics every morning, screaming nonsense at the top</p><p>of his lungs. And before you came, Naoko, there was a girl in the</p><p>business office, Miss Kinoshita, who tried to kill herself. And last year</p><p>they sacked a male nurse, Tokushima, who had a terrible drinking</p><p>problem."</p><p>"Sounds like patients and staff should swap places," I said.</p><p>"Right on," said Reiko, waving her fork in the air. "You're finally</p><p>starting to see how things work here."</p><p>"I suppose so."</p><p>"What makes us most normal," said Reiko, "is knowing that we're not</p><p>normal."</p><p>Back in the room, Naoko and I played cards while Reiko practised</p><p>Bach on her guitar.</p><p>"What time are you leaving tomorrow?" Reiko asked me, taking a</p><p>break and lighting a cigarette.</p><p>"Straight after breakfast," I said. "The bus comes at nine. That way I</p><p>can get back in time for tomorrow night's work."</p><p>"Too bad. It'd be nice if you could stay longer."</p><p>"If I stayed around too long, I might end up living here," I said,</p><p>laughing.</p><p>"Maybe so," Reiko said. Then, to Naoko, she said, "Oh, yeah, I've got</p><p>to go get some grapes at Oka's. I totally forgot."</p><p>"Want me to go with you?" asked Naoko.</p><p>179</p><p>"How about letting me borrow your young Mr Watanabe here?"</p><p>"Fine," said Naoko.</p><p>"Good. Let's just the two of us go for another nighttime stroll," said</p><p>Reiko, taking my hand. "We Yesterday. Let's go all the way tonight."</p><p>"Fine," said Naoko, tittering. "Do what you like."</p><p>were almost there.</p><p>The night air was cool. Reiko wore a pale blue cardigan over her shirt</p><p>and walked with her hands shoved in her jeans pockets. Looking up at</p><p>the sky, she sniffed the breeze like a dog. "Smells like rain," she said.</p><p>I tried sniffing too, but couldn't smell anything. True, there were lots</p><p>of clouds in the sky obscuring the moon.</p><p>"If you stay here long enough, you can pretty much tell the weather by</p><p>the smell of the air," said Reiko.</p><p>We entered the wooded area where the staff houses stood. Reiko told</p><p>me to wait a minute, walked over to the front door of one house and</p><p>rang the bell. A woman came to the door - no doubt the lady of the</p><p>house - and stood there chatting and chuckling with Reiko. Then she</p><p>ducked inside and came back with a large plastic bag. Reiko thanked</p><p>her and said goodnight before returning to the spot where I was</p><p>waiting.</p><p>"Look," she said, opening the bag.</p><p>It held a huge cluster of grapes.</p><p>"Do you like grapes?"</p><p>"Love them."</p><p>She handed me the top bunch. "It's OK to eat them. They're washed."</p><p>We walked along eating grapes and spitting the skins and seeds on the</p><p>ground. They were fresh and delicious.</p><p>"I give their son piano lessons once in a while, and they offer me</p><p>different stuff. The wine we had was from them. I sometimes ask them</p><p>to do a little shopping for me in town."</p><p>"I'd like to hear the rest of the story you were telling me yesterday," I</p><p>said.</p><p>180</p><p>"Fine," said Reiko. "But if we keep coming home late, Naoko might</p><p>start getting suspicious."</p><p>"I'm willing to risk it."</p><p>"OK, then. I want a roof, though. It's a little chilly tonight."</p><p>She turned left as we approached the tennis courts. We went down a</p><p>narrow stairway and came out at a spot where several storehouses</p><p>stood like a block of houses. Reiko opened the door of the nearest one,</p><p>stepped in and turned on the lights. "Come in," she said. "There's not</p><p>much to see, though."</p><p>The storehouse contained neat rows of cross-country skis, boots and</p><p>poles, and on the floor were piled snow removal equipment and bags</p><p>of rock salt.</p><p>"I used to come here all the time for guitar practice - when I wanted to</p><p>be alone. Nice and cosy, isn't it?"</p><p>Reiko sat on the bags of rock salt and invited me to sit next to her. I</p><p>did as I was told.</p><p>"Not much ventilation here, but mind if I smoke?"</p><p>"Go ahead," I said.</p><p>"This is one habit I can't seem to break," she said with a frown, but</p><p>she lit up with obvious enjoyment. Not many people enjoy tobacco as</p><p>much as Reiko did. I ate my grapes, carefully peeling them one at a</p><p>time and tossing the skins and seeds into a tin that served as a rubbish</p><p>bin.</p><p>"Now, let's see, how far did we get last night?" Reiko asked.</p><p>"It was a dark and stormy night, and you were climbing the steep cliff</p><p>to grab the bird's nest."</p><p>"You're amazing, the way you can joke around with such a straight</p><p>face," said Reiko. "Let's see, I think I had got to the point where I was</p><p>giving piano lessons to the girl every Saturday morning."</p><p>"That's it."</p><p>"Assuming you can divide everybody in the world into two groups -</p><p>181</p><p>those who are good at teaching things to people, and those who are not</p><p>- I pretty much belong to the first group," said Reiko. "I never thought</p><p>so when I was young, and I suppose I didn't want to think of myself</p><p>that way, but once</p><p>I reached a certain age and had attained a degree of selfknowledge I</p><p>realized it was true after all: I'm good at teaching people things. Really</p><p>good."</p><p>"I bet you are."</p><p>"I have a lot more patience for others than I have for myself, and I'm</p><p>much better at bringing out the best in others than in myself. That's</p><p>just the kind of person I am. I'm the scratchy stuff on the side of the</p><p>matchbox. But that's fine with me. I don't mind at all. Better to be a</p><p>first-class matchbox than a second-class match. I got this clear in my</p><p>own mind, I'd say, after I started teaching this girl. I had taught a few</p><p>others when I was younger, strictly as a sideline, without realizing this</p><p>about myself. It was only after I started teaching her that I began to</p><p>think of myself that way. Hey - I'm good at teaching people. That's</p><p>how well the lessons went.</p><p>As I said yesterday, the girl was nothing special when it came to</p><p>technique, and there was no question of her becoming a professional</p><p>musician, so I could take it easy. Plus she was going to the kind of</p><p>girls' school where anybody with halfdecent marks automatically got</p><p>into university, which meant she</p><p>didn't have to kill herself studying,</p><p>and her mother was all for going easy with the lessons, too. So I didn't</p><p>push her to do anything. I knew the first time I met her that she was</p><p>the kind of girl you couldn't push to do anything, that she was the kind</p><p>of child who would be all sweetness and say "Yes, yes,' and absolutely</p><p>refuse to do anything she didn't want to do. So the first thing I did was</p><p>let her play a piece the way she wanted to - 100 per cent her own way.</p><p>Then I would play the same piece several different ways for her, and</p><p>the two of us would discuss which was best or which way she liked</p><p>182</p><p>most. Then I'd have her play the piece again, and her performance</p><p>would be ten times better than the first. She would see for</p><p>herself what worked best and bring those features into her own</p><p>playing."</p><p>Reiko paused for a moment, observing the glowing end of her</p><p>cigarette. I went on eating my grapes without a word.</p><p>"I know I have a pretty good sense for music, but she was better than</p><p>me. I used to think it was such a waste! I thought,</p><p>,if only she had started out with a good teacher and received the</p><p>proper training, she'd be so much farther along!' But I was wrong. She</p><p>wasn't the kind of child who could stand proper training. There just</p><p>happen to be people like that. They're blessed with this marvellous</p><p>talent, but they can't make the effort to systematize it. They end up</p><p>squandering it in little bits and pieces. I've seen my share of people</p><p>like that. At first you think they're amazing. They can sight-read some</p><p>terrifically difficult piece and do a damn good job playing it all the</p><p>way through. You see them do it, and you're overwhelmed. You think,</p><p>"I could never do that in a million years.' But that's as far as it goes.</p><p>They can't take it any further. And why not? Because they won't put in</p><p>the effort. They haven't had the discipline pounded into them. They've</p><p>been spoiled. They have just enough talent so they've been able to</p><p>play things well without any effort and they've had people telling them</p><p>how great they are from an early age, so hard work looks stupid to</p><p>them. They'll take some piece another kid has to work on for three</p><p>weeks and polish it off in half the time, so the teacher assumes they've</p><p>put enough into it and lets them go on to the next thing. And they do</p><p>that in half the time and go on to the next piece. They never find out</p><p>what it means to be hammered by the teacher; they lose out on a</p><p>crucial element required for character building. It's a tragedy. I myself</p><p>had tendencies like that, but fortunately I had a very tough teacher, so</p><p>I kept them in check.</p><p>"Anyway, it was a joy to teach her. Like driving down the highway in</p><p>183</p><p>a high-powered sports car that responds to the slightest touch -</p><p>responds too quickly, sometimes. The trick to teaching children like</p><p>that is not to praise them too much. They're so used to praise it doesn't</p><p>mean anything to them. You've got to dole it out wisely. And you can't</p><p>force anything on them. You have to let them choose for themselves.</p><p>And you don't let them rush ahead from one thing to the next: you</p><p>make them stop and think. But that's about it. If you do those things,</p><p>you'll get good results."</p><p>Reiko dropped her cigarette butt on the floor and stamped it out. Then</p><p>she took a deep breath as if to calm herself.</p><p>"When her lessons ended, we'd have tea and chat. Sometimes I'd show</p><p>her certain jazz piano styles - like, this is Bud Powell, or this is</p><p>Thelonious Monk. But mostly she talked. And what a talker she was!</p><p>She could draw you right in. As I told you yesterday, I think most of</p><p>what she said was made up, but it was interesting. She was a keen</p><p>observer, a precise user of language, sharp-tongued and funny. She</p><p>could stir your emotions. Yes, really, that's what she was so good at -</p><p>stirring people's emotions, moving you. And she knew she had this</p><p>power. She tried to use it as skilfully and effectively as possible. She</p><p>could make you feel whatever she wanted - angry or sad or</p><p>sympathetic or disappointed or happy. She would manipulate people's</p><p>emotions for no other reason than to test her own powers. Of course, I</p><p>only realized this later. At the time, I had no idea what she was doing</p><p>to me."</p><p>Reiko shook her head and ate a few grapes.</p><p>"It was a sickness," she said. "The girl was sick. She was like the</p><p>rotten apple that ruins all the other apples. And no one could cure her.</p><p>She'll have that sickness until the day she dies. In that sense, she was a</p><p>sad little creature. I would have</p><p>pitied her, too, if I hadn't been one of her victims. I would have seen</p><p>her as a victim."</p><p>Reiko ate a few more grapes. She seemed to be thinking of how best</p><p>184</p><p>to go on with her story.</p><p>"Well, anyway, I enjoyed teaching her for a good six months.</p><p>Sometimes I'd find something she said a little surprising or odd. Or</p><p>she'd be talking and I'd have this rush of horror when I realised the</p><p>intensity of her hatred for some person was completely irrational, or it</p><p>would occur to me that she was just far too clever, and I'd wonder</p><p>what she was really thinking. But, after all, everyone has their flaws,</p><p>right? And finally, what business was it of mine to question her</p><p>personality or character? I was just her piano teacher. All I had to care</p><p>about was whether she practised or not. And besides, the truth of the</p><p>matter is that I liked her. I liked her a lot.</p><p>"Still, I was careful not to tell her anything too personal about myself.</p><p>I just had this sixth sense that I'd better not talk about such things. She</p><p>asked me hundreds of questions - she was dying to know more about</p><p>me - but I only told her the most harmless stuff, like things about my</p><p>childhood or where I'd gone to school, stuff like that. She said she</p><p>wanted to know more about me, but I told her there was nothing to</p><p>tell: I'd had a boring life, I had an ordinary husband, an ordinary child,</p><p>and a ton of housework. "But I like you so much,' she'd say and look</p><p>me right in the eye in this clingy sort of way. It sent a thrill through</p><p>me when she did that - a nice thrill. But even so, I never told her more</p><p>than I had to.</p><p>"And then one day - a day in May, I think it was - in the middle of her</p><p>lesson, she said she felt sick. I saw she was pale and sweating and</p><p>asked if she wanted to go home, but she said she thought she'd feel</p><p>better if she could just lie down for a while. So I took her - almost</p><p>carried her - to the bedroom.</p><p>We had such a small sofa, the bed was the only place she could lie</p><p>down. She apologized for being a nuisance, but I assured her it was no</p><p>bother and asked if she wanted anything to drink. She said no, she just</p><p>wanted me to stay near her, which I said I'd be glad to do.</p><p>"A few minutes later she asked me to rub her back. She sounded as</p><p>185</p><p>though she was really suffering, and she was sweating like mad, so I</p><p>started to give her a good massage. Then she apologized and asked me</p><p>if I'd mind taking off her bra, as it was hurting her. So, I don't know, I</p><p>did it. She was wearing a skin-tight blouse, and I had to unbutton that</p><p>and reach behind and undo the bra hooks. She had big breasts for a</p><p>13-year-old. Twice as big as mine. And she wasn't wearing any starter</p><p>bra but a real adult model, an expensive one. Of course I'm not paying</p><p>all that much attention at the time, and like an idiot I just carry on</p><p>rubbing her back. She keeps apologizing in this pitiful voice as if she's</p><p>really sorry, and I keep telling her it's OK it's OK."</p><p>Reiko tapped the ash from her cigarette to the floor. By then I had</p><p>stopped eating grapes and was giving all my attention to her story.</p><p>"After a while she starts sobbing. "What's wrong?' I ask her.</p><p>"Nothing,' she says. "It's obviously not nothing,' I say. "Tell me the</p><p>truth. What's bothering you?' So she says, "I just get like this</p><p>sometimes. I don't know what to do. I'm so lonely and sad, and I can't</p><p>talk to anybody, and nobody cares about me. And it hurts so much, I</p><p>just get like this.</p><p>I can't sleep at night, and I don't feel like eating, and</p><p>coming here for my lesson is the only thing I have to look forward to.'</p><p>So I say, "You can talk to me. Tell me why this happens to you.'</p><p>Things are not going well at home, she says. She can't love her</p><p>parents, and they don't love her. Her father is seeing another woman</p><p>and is hardly ever around, and that makes her mother half crazy and</p><p>she takes it out on the girl; she beats her almost every day and she</p><p>hates to go home. So now the girl is really wailing, and her eyes are</p><p>full of tears, those beautiful eyes of hers. The sight is enough to make</p><p>a god weep. So I tell her, if it's so terrible to go home, she can come to</p><p>my place any time she likes. When she hears that, the girl throws her</p><p>arms around me and says, "Oh, I'm so sorry, but if I didn't have you I</p><p>wouldn't know what to do. Please don't turn your back on me. If you</p><p>did that, I'd have nowhere to go.'</p><p>"So, I don't know, I hold her head against me and I'm caressing her</p><p>186</p><p>and saying "There there,' and she's got her arms around me and she's</p><p>stroking my back, and soon I'm starting to feel very strange, my whole</p><p>body is kind of hot. I mean, here's this picture-perfect beautiful girl</p><p>and I'm on the bed with her, and we're hugging, and her hands are</p><p>caressing my back in this incredibly sensual way that my own</p><p>husband couldn't even begin to match, and I feel all the screws coming</p><p>loose in my body every time she touches me, and before I know it she</p><p>has my blouse and bra off and she's stroking my breasts. So that's</p><p>when it finally hits me that she's an absolute dyed-in-the-wool lesbian.</p><p>This had happened to me once before, at school, one of the sixth-form</p><p>girls. So then I tell her to stop.</p><p>""Oh, please,' she says, "just a little more. I'm so lonely, I'm so lonely,</p><p>please believe me, you're the only one I have, oh please, don't turn</p><p>your back on me,' and she takes my hand and puts it on her breast -</p><p>her very nicely shaped breast, and, sure, I'm a woman, but this electric</p><p>something goes through me when my hand makes contact. I have no</p><p>idea what to do. I just keep repeating no no no no no, like an idiot. It's</p><p>as if I'm Paralyzed, I can't move. I had managed to push the girl</p><p>away at school, but now I can't do a thing. My body won't take orders.</p><p>She's holding my right hand against her with her left hand, and she's</p><p>kissing and licking my nipples, and her right hand is caressing my</p><p>back, my side, my bottom. So here I am in the bedroom with the</p><p>curtains closed and a 13-year-old girl has me practically naked - she's</p><p>been taking my clothes off somehow all along - and touching me all</p><p>over and I'm writhing with the pleasure of it. Looking back on it now,</p><p>it seems incredible. I mean, it's insane, don't you think? But at the time</p><p>it was as if she had cast a spell on me."</p><p>Reiko paused to puff at her cigarette.</p><p>"You know, this is the first time I've ever told a man about it," she</p><p>said, looking at me. "I'm telling it to you because I think I ought to,</p><p>but I'm finding it really embarrassing."</p><p>"I'm sorry," I said, because I didn't know what else to say.</p><p>187</p><p>"This went on for a while, and then her right hand started to move</p><p>down, and she touched me through my panties. By then, I was</p><p>absolutely soaking wet. I'm ashamed to say it, but I've never been so</p><p>wet before or since. I had always thought of myself as sort of</p><p>indifferent to sex, so I was astounded to be getting so worked up. So</p><p>then she puts these slim, soft fingers of hers inside my panties, and ...</p><p>well, you know, I can't bring myself to put it into words. I mean, it</p><p>was totally different from when a man puts his clumsy hands on you</p><p>there. It was amazing. Really. Like feathers or down. I thought all the</p><p>fuses in my head were going to pop. Still, somewhere in my fogged-</p><p>over brain, the thought occurred to me that I had to put a stop to this.</p><p>If I let it happen once, I'd never stop, and if I had to carry around a</p><p>secret like that inside me, my head was going to get completely</p><p>messed up again. I thought about my daughter, too. What if she saw</p><p>me like this? She was supposed to be at my parents' house until three</p><p>on</p><p>Saturdays, but what if something happened and she came home</p><p>unexpectedly? This helped me to gather my strength and raise myself</p><p>on the bed. "Stop it now, please stop!' I shouted.</p><p>"But she wouldn't stop. Instead, she yanked my panties down and</p><p>started using her tongue. I had rarely let even my husband do that, I</p><p>found it so embarrassing, but now I had a 13-year-old girl licking me</p><p>all over down there. I just gave up. All I could do was cry. And it was</p><p>absolute paradise.</p><p>""Stop it!' I yelled one more time and slapped her on the side of the</p><p>face as hard as I could. She finally stopped, raised herself up and</p><p>looked into my eyes. The two of us were stark naked, on our knees, in</p><p>bed, staring at each other. She was 13, I was 31, but, I don't know,</p><p>looking at that body of hers, I felt totally overwhelmed. The image is</p><p>still so vivid in my mind. I could hardly believe I was looking at the</p><p>body of a 13-year-old girl, and I still can't believe it. By comparison,</p><p>what I had for a body was enough to make you cry. Believe me."</p><p>188</p><p>There was nothing I could say, and so I said nothing.</p><p>""What's wrong?' she says to me. "You like it this way, don't you? I</p><p>knew you would the first time I met you. I know you like it. It's much</p><p>better than doing it with a man - isn't it? Look how wet you are. I can</p><p>make you feel even better if you'll let me. It's true. I can make you feel</p><p>like your body's melting away. You want me to, don't you?' And she</p><p>was right. She was much better than my husband. And I did want her</p><p>to do it even more! But I couldn't let it happen. "Let's do this once a</p><p>week,' she said. "Just once a week. Nobody will find out. It'll be our</p><p>little secret'."</p><p>"But I got out of bed and put on my dressing-gown and told her to</p><p>leave and never come back. She just looked at me. Her eyes were</p><p>absolutely flat. I had never seen them like that</p><p>before. It was as if they were painted on cardboard. They had no</p><p>depth. After she stared at me for a while, she gathered up her clothes</p><p>without a word and, as slowly as she could, as though she were</p><p>making a show of it, she put on each item, one at a time. Then she</p><p>went back into the piano room and took a brush from her bag. She</p><p>brushed her hair and wiped the blood from her lips with a</p><p>handkerchief, put on her shoes, and left. As she went out, she said,</p><p>"You're a lesbian, you know. It's true. You may try to hide it, but</p><p>you'll be a lesbian until the day you die'."</p><p>"Is it true?" I asked.</p><p>Reiko curved her lips and thought for a while. "Well, it is and it isn't. I</p><p>definitely felt better with her than with my husband. That's a fact. I</p><p>had a time there when I really agonized over the question. Maybe I</p><p>really was a lesbian and just hadn't noticed until then. But I don't think</p><p>so any more. Which is not to say I don't have the tendencies. I</p><p>probably do have them. But I'm not a lesbian in the proper sense of the</p><p>term. I never feel desire when I look at a woman. Know what I</p><p>mean?"</p><p>I nodded.</p><p>189</p><p>"Certain kinds of girls, though, do respond to me, and I can feel it</p><p>when that happens. Those are the only times it comes out in me. I can</p><p>hold Naoko in my arms, though, and feel nothing special. We go</p><p>around in the flat practically naked when the weather's hot, and we</p><p>take baths together, sometimes even sleep in the same bed, but</p><p>nothing happens. I don't feel a thing. I can see that she has a beautiful</p><p>body, but that's all. Actually, Naoko and I played a game once. We</p><p>made believe we were lesbians. Want to hear about it?"</p><p>"Sure. Tell me."</p><p>"When I told her the story I just told you - we tell each</p><p>other everything, you know - Naoko tried an experiment. The two of</p><p>us got undressed and she tried caressing me, but it didn't work at all. It</p><p>just tickled. I thought I was going to die laughing. Just thinking about</p><p>it makes</p><p>me itchy. She was so clumsy! I'll bet you're glad to hear</p><p>that."</p><p>"Yes I am, to tell the truth."</p><p>"Well, anyway, that's about it," said Reiko, scratching near an</p><p>eyebrow with the tip of her little finger. "After the girl left my house, I</p><p>found a chair and sat there spacing out for a while, wondering what to</p><p>do. I could hear the dull beating of my heart from deep inside my</p><p>body. My arms and legs seemed to weigh a ton, and my mouth felt as</p><p>though I'd eaten a moth or something, it was so dry. But I dragged</p><p>myself to the bathroom, knowing my daughter would be back soon. I</p><p>wanted to clean those places where the girl had touched and licked</p><p>me. I scrubbed myself with soap, over and over, but I couldn't seem to</p><p>get rid of the slimy feeling she had left behind. I knew I was probably</p><p>imagining it, but that didn't help. That night, I asked my husband to</p><p>make love to me, almost as a way to get rid of the defilement. Of</p><p>course, I didn't tell him anything - I couldn't. All I said to him was that</p><p>I wanted him to take it slow, to give it more time than usual. And he</p><p>did. He concentrated on every little detail, he really took a long, long</p><p>time, and the way I came that night, oh yes, it was like nothing I had</p><p>190</p><p>ever experienced before, never once in all our married life. And why</p><p>do you think that was? Because the touch of that girl's fingers was still</p><p>there in my body. That's all it was.</p><p>"Oh, man, is this embarrassing! Look, I'm sweating! I can't believe I'm</p><p>saying these things - he "made love' to me, I "came'!" Reiko smiled,</p><p>her lips curved again. "But even this didn't help. Two days went by,</p><p>three, and her touch was still there. And her last words were echoing</p><p>and echoing in my head.</p><p>"She didn't come to my house the following Saturday. My heart was</p><p>pounding all day long while I waited, wondering what I would do if</p><p>she showed up. I couldn't concentrate on anything. She never did</p><p>come, though. Of course. She was a proud little thing, and she had</p><p>failed with me in the end. She didn't come the next week, either, nor</p><p>the week after that, and soon a month went by. I decided that I would</p><p>be able to forget about what had happened when enough time had</p><p>passed, but I couldn't forget. When I was alone in the house, I would</p><p>feel her presence and my nerves would be on edge. I couldn't play the</p><p>piano, I couldn't think, I couldn't do anything during that first month.</p><p>And then one day I realized that something was wrong whenever I left</p><p>the house. The neighbours were looking at me in a strange way. There</p><p>was a new distance in their eyes. They were as polite as ever with</p><p>their greetings, but there was something different in their tone of voice</p><p>and in their behaviour towards me. The woman next door, who used to</p><p>pay me an occasional visit, seemed to be avoiding me. I tried not to let</p><p>these things bother me, though. Start noticing things like that, and</p><p>you've got the first signs of illness.</p><p>"Then one day I had a visit from another housewife I was on friendly</p><p>terms with. We were the same age, and she was the daughter of a</p><p>friend of my mother's, and her child went to the same kindergarten as</p><p>mine, so we were fairly close. She just showed up one day and asked</p><p>me if I knew about a terrible rumour that was going around about me.</p><p>"What kind of rumour?' I asked. "I almost can't say it, it's so awful,'</p><p>191</p><p>she said. "Well, you've got this far, you have to tell me the rest.'</p><p>"Still she resisted telling me, but I finally got it all out of her. I mean,</p><p>her whole purpose in coming to see me was to tell me what she had</p><p>heard, so of course she was going to spit it out eventually. According</p><p>to her, people were saying that I was a card-carrying lesbian and had</p><p>been in and out of mental hospitals for it. They said that I had stripped</p><p>the clothes off my piano pupil and tried to do things to her and when</p><p>she had resisted I had slapped her so hard her face swelled up. They</p><p>had turned the story on its head, of course, which was bad enough, but</p><p>what really shocked me was that people knew I had been hospitalized.</p><p>"My friend said she was telling everyone that she had known me for</p><p>ever and that I was not like that, but the girl's parents believed her</p><p>version and were spreading it around the neighbourhood. In addition,</p><p>they had investigated my background and found that I had a history of</p><p>mental problems.</p><p>"The way my friend heard it, the girl had come home from her lesson</p><p>one day - that day, of course - with her face all bloated, her lip split</p><p>and bloody, buttons missing from her blouse, and even her underwear</p><p>torn. Can you believe it? She had done all this to back up her story, of</p><p>course, which her mother had to drag out of her. I can just see her</p><p>doing it - putting blood on her blouse, tearing buttons off, ripping the</p><p>lace on her bra, making herself cry until her eyes were red, messing up</p><p>her hair, telling her mother a pack of lies.</p><p>"Not that I'm blaming people for believing her. I would have believed</p><p>her, too, this beautiful doll with a devil's tongue. She comes home</p><p>crying, she refuses to talk because it's too embarrassing, but then she</p><p>spills it out. Of course people are going to believe her. And to make</p><p>matters worse, it's true, I do have a history of hospitalization for</p><p>mental problems, I did hit her in the face as hard as I could. Who's</p><p>going to believe me? Probably just my husband.</p><p>A few more days went by while I wrestled with the</p><p>question of whether to tell him or not, but when I did, he believed me.</p><p>192</p><p>Of course. I told him everything that had happened that day - the kind</p><p>of lesbian things she did to me, the way I slapped her in the face. Of</p><p>course, I didn't tell him what I had felt. I couldn't have told him that.</p><p>So anyway, he was furious and insisted that he was going to go</p><p>straight to the girl's family. He said, "You're a married woman, after</p><p>all. You're married to me. And you're a mother. There's no way you're</p><p>a lesbian. What a joke!'</p><p>"But I wouldn't let him go. All he could do was make things worse. I</p><p>knew. I knew she was sick. I had seen hundreds of sick people, so I</p><p>knew. The girl was rotten inside. Peel off a layer of that beautiful skin,</p><p>and you'd find nothing but rotten flesh. I know it's a terrible thing to</p><p>say, but it's true. And I knew that ordinary people could never know</p><p>the truth about her, that there was no way we could win. She was an</p><p>expert at manipulating the emotions of the adults around her, and we</p><p>had nothing to prove our case. First of all, who's going to believe that</p><p>a 13-year-old girl set a homosexual trap for a woman in her thirties?</p><p>No matter what we said, people would believe what they wanted to</p><p>believe. The more we struggled, the more vulnerable we'd be.</p><p>"There was only one thing for us to do, I said: we had to move. If I</p><p>stayed in that neighbourhood any longer, the stress would get to me;</p><p>my mind would snap again. It was happening already. We had to get</p><p>out of there, go somewhere far away where nobody knew me. My</p><p>husband wasn't ready to go, though. It hadn't dawned on him yet how</p><p>critical I was. And the timing was terrible: he loved his work, and he</p><p>had finally succeeded in getting us settled in our own house (we lived</p><p>in a little prefab), and our daughter was comfortable in her</p><p>kindergarten. "Wait a minute,' he said, "we can't just up sticks and go.</p><p>I can't find a job just like that. We'd have to sell the house, and we'd</p><p>have to find another kindergarten. It'll take two months at least."</p><p>"I can't wait two months,” I told him. "This is going to finish me off</p><p>once and for all. I'm not kidding. Believe me, I know what I'm talking</p><p>about.' The symptoms were starting already: my ears were ringing,</p><p>193</p><p>and I was hearing things, and I couldn't sleep. So he suggested that I</p><p>leave first, go somewhere by myself, and he would follow after he had</p><p>taken care of what had to be done.</p><p>""No,' I said, "I don't want to go alone. I'll fall apart if I don't have</p><p>you. I need you. Please, don't leave me</p><p>alone.' He held me and pleaded</p><p>with me to hang on a little longer. Just a month, he said. He would</p><p>take care of everything - leave his job, sell the house, make</p><p>arrangements for kindergarten, find a new job. There might be a</p><p>position he could take in Australia, he said. He just wanted me to wait</p><p>one month, and everything would be OK. What could I say to that? If</p><p>I tried to object, it would only isolate me even more."</p><p>Reiko sighed and looked at the ceiling light.</p><p>"I couldn't hold on for a month, though. One day, it happened again:</p><p>snap! And this time it was really bad. I took sleeping pills and turned</p><p>on the gas. I woke up in a hospital bed, and it was all over. It took a</p><p>few months before I had calmed down enough to think, and then I</p><p>asked my husband for a divorce. I told him it would be the best thing</p><p>for him and for our daughter. He said he had no intention of divorcing</p><p>me. "We can make a new start,' he said. "We can go somewhere new,</p><p>just the three of us, and begin all over again.' "It's too late,' I told him.</p><p>"Everything ended when you asked me to wait a month. If you really</p><p>wanted to start again, you shouldn't have said that to me. Now, no</p><p>matter where we go, no matter how far away we move, the same thing</p><p>will happen all over again. And I'll ask you for the same thing, and</p><p>make you suffer. I don't want to do that any more.'</p><p>"And so we divorced. Or I should say I divorced him. He married</p><p>again two years ago, though. I'm still glad I made him leave me.</p><p>Really. I knew I'd be like this for the rest of my life, and I didn't want</p><p>to drag anyone down with me. I didn't want to force anyone to live in</p><p>constant fear that I might lose my mind at any moment.</p><p>"He had been wonderful to me: an ideal husband, faithful, strong and</p><p>patient, someone I could put my complete trust in. He had done</p><p>194</p><p>everything he could to heal me, and I had done everything I could to</p><p>be healed, both for his sake and for our daughter's. And I had believed</p><p>in my recovery. I was happy for six years from the time we were</p><p>married. He got me 99 per cent of the way there, but the other one per</p><p>cent went crazy. Snap! Everything we had built up came crashing</p><p>down. In one split second, everything turned into nothing. And that</p><p>girl was the one who did it."</p><p>Reiko collected the cigarette butts she had crushed underfoot and</p><p>tossed them into the tin can.</p><p>"It's a terrible story. We worked so hard, so hard, building our world</p><p>one brick at a time. And when it fell apart, it happened just like that.</p><p>Everything was gone before you knew it."</p><p>She stood up and thrust her hands in her pockets. "Let's go back. It's</p><p>late."</p><p>The sky was darker, the cloud cover thicker than before, the moon</p><p>invisible. Now, I realized, like Reiko I could smell the rain. And with</p><p>it mixed the fresh smell of the grapes in the bag I was holding.</p><p>"That's why I can't leave this place," she said. "I'm afraid to get</p><p>involved with the outside world. I'm afraid to meet new people and</p><p>feel new feelings."</p><p>"I understand," I said. "But I think you can do it. I think you can go</p><p>outside and make it."</p><p>Reiko smiled, but said nothing.</p><p>Naoko was on the sofa with a book. She had her legs crossed and</p><p>pressed her hand against her temple as she read. Her fingers almost</p><p>seemed to be touching and testing each word that entered her head.</p><p>Scattered drops of rain were beginning to tap on the roof. The</p><p>lamplight enveloped her, hovering around her like fine dust. After my</p><p>long talk with Reiko, Naoko's youthfulness struck me in a new way.</p><p>"Sorry we're so late," said Reiko, patting Naoko's head.</p><p>"Enjoy yourselves?" asked Naoko, looking up.</p><p>"Of course," said Reiko.</p><p>195</p><p>"Doing what?" Naoko asked me, - just the two of you."</p><p>"Not at liberty to say, Miss," I answered.</p><p>Naoko chuckled and set down her book. Then the three of us ate</p><p>grapes to the sound of the rain.</p><p>"When it's raining like this," said Naoko, "it feels as if we're the only</p><p>ones in the world. I wish it would just keep raining so the three of us</p><p>could stay together."</p><p>"Oh, sure," said Reiko, "and while the two of you are going at it, I'm</p><p>supposed to be fanning you or playing background music on my guitar</p><p>like some dumb geisha? No, thanks!"</p><p>"Oh, I'd let you have him once in a while," said Naoko, laughing.</p><p>"OK, then, count me in," said Reiko. "Come on, rain, pour down!"</p><p>The rain did pour down, and kept pouring. Thunder shook the place</p><p>from time to time. When we had finished the grapes, Reiko went back</p><p>to her cigarettes and pulled out the guitar from under her bed and</p><p>started to play - first, "Desafinado" and "The Girl from Ipanema", then</p><p>some Bacharach and a few Lennon and McCartney songs. Reiko and I</p><p>sipped wine again, and when that was gone we shared the brandy that</p><p>was left in my flask. A warm, intimate mood took hold as the three of</p><p>us talked into the night, and I began to wish, with Naoko, that the rain</p><p>would keep on falling.</p><p>"Will you come to see me again?" she asked, looking at me.</p><p>"Of course I will," I said.</p><p>"And will you write?"</p><p>"Every week."</p><p>"And will you add a few lines for me?" asked Reiko. "That I will," I</p><p>said. "I'd be glad to."</p><p>At eleven o'clock, Reiko unfolded the sofa and made a bed for me as</p><p>she had the night before. We said goodnight and turned out the lights.</p><p>Unable to sleep, I took The Magic Mountain and a torch from my</p><p>rucksack and read for a while. Just before midnight, the bedroom door</p><p>edged open and Naoko came and crawled in next to me. Unlike the</p><p>196</p><p>night before, Naoko was the usual Naoko. Her eyes were in focus, her</p><p>movements brisk. Bringing her mouth to my ear, she whispered, "I</p><p>don't know, I can't sleep."</p><p>"I can't either," I said. Setting my book down and turning out the</p><p>torch, I took her in my arms and kissed her. The darkness and the</p><p>sound of the rain enfolded us.</p><p>"How about Reiko?"</p><p>"Don't worry, she's sound asleep. And when she sleeps, she sleeps."</p><p>Then Naoko asked, "Will you really come to see me again?"</p><p>"Of course I will."</p><p>"Even if I can't do anything for you?"</p><p>I nodded in the darkness. I could feel the full shape of her breasts</p><p>against me. I traced the outline of her body through her gown with the</p><p>flat of my hand. From shoulder to back to hips, I ran my hand over her</p><p>again and again, driving the line and the softness of her body into my</p><p>brain. After we had been in this gentle embrace for a while, Naoko</p><p>touched her lips to my forehead and slipped out of bed. I could see her</p><p>pale blue gown flash in the darkness like a fish.</p><p>"Goodbye," she called in a tiny voice.</p><p>Listening to the rain, I dropped into a gentle sleep.</p><p>It was still raining the following morning - a fine, almost invisible</p><p>autumn rain unlike the previous night's downpour. You knew it was</p><p>raining only because of the ripples on puddles and the sound of</p><p>dripping from the eaves. I woke to see a milky white mist enclosing</p><p>the window, but as the sun rose a breeze carried the mist away, and</p><p>the surrounding woods and hills began to emerge.</p><p>As we had done the day before, the three of us ate breakfast then went</p><p>out to attend to the aviary. Naoko and Reiko wore yellow plastic</p><p>raincapes with hoods. I put on a jumper and a waterproof windcheater.</p><p>Outside the air was damp and chilly. The birds, too, were avoiding the</p><p>rain, huddled together at the back of the cage.</p><p>197</p><p>"Gets cold here when it rains, doesn't it?" I said to Reiko.</p><p>"Every time it rains it'll be a little colder now, until it turns to snow,"</p><p>she said. "The clouds from the Sea of Japan dump tons of snow when</p><p>they pass through here."</p><p>"What do you do with the birds in the winter?"</p><p>"Bring them inside, of course. What are we supposed to do - dig them</p><p>out of the snow in spring all frozen? We defrost 'em and bring 'em</p><p>back to life and yell, OK, everybody, come and get it!"</p><p>I poked the wire mesh and the parrot flapped its wings and squawked</p><p>"Shithead!" "Thank you!" "Crazy!"</p><p>"Now, that one I'd like to freeze," Naoko said with a melancholy look.</p><p>"I really think I will</p><p>go crazy if I have to hear that every morning."</p><p>After cleaning the aviary, we went back to the flat. While I packed my</p><p>things, the women put on their farm clothes. We left the building</p><p>together and parted just beyond the tennis court. They turned right and</p><p>I continued straight ahead. We called goodbye to each other, and I</p><p>promised I would come again. Naoko gave a little smile and</p><p>disappeared around a corner.</p><p>On my way to the gate I passed several people, all wearing the same</p><p>yellow raincapes that Naoko and Reiko wore, all with their hoods up.</p><p>Colours shone with an exceptional clarity in the rain: the ground was a</p><p>deep black, the pine branches a brilliant green, and the people</p><p>wrapped in yellow looking like otherworldly spirits that were only</p><p>allowed to wander the earth on rainy mornings. They floated over the</p><p>ground in silence, carrying farm tools, baskets and sacks.</p><p>The gatekeeper remembered my name and marked it on the list of</p><p>visitors as I left. "I see you're here from Tokyo," the old fellow said. "I</p><p>went there once. Just once. They serve great pork."</p><p>"They do?" I asked, uncertain how to answer him.</p><p>"I didn't like much of what I ate in Tokyo, but the pork was delicious.</p><p>I expect they have some special way of rearing 'em, eh?"</p><p>I said I didn't know, it was the first I'd heard of it. "When was that, by</p><p>198</p><p>the way, when you went to Tokyo?"</p><p>"Hmm, let's see," he said, cocking his head, "was it the time His</p><p>Majesty the Crown prince got married? My son was in Tokyo and said</p><p>I ought to see the place at least once. That must have been 1959."</p><p>"Oh, well then, sure, pork must have been good in Tokyo back then," I</p><p>said.</p><p>"How about these days?" he asked.</p><p>I wasn't sure, I said, but I hadn't heard anything special about it. This</p><p>seemed to disappoint him. He gave every sign of wanting to continue</p><p>our conversation, but I told him I had to catch a bus and started</p><p>walking in the direction of the road. Patches of fog remained floating</p><p>on the path where it skirted the stream, but the breeze carried them</p><p>over to the steep flanks of a nearby mountain. Every now and then as I</p><p>walked along I would stop, turn, and heave a deep sigh for no</p><p>particular reason. I felt as though I had arrived on a planet where the</p><p>gravity was a little different. Yes, of course, I told myself, feeling sad:</p><p>I was in the outside world now.</p><p>Back at the dorm by 4.30, I changed straight away and left for the</p><p>record shop in Shinjuku to put in my hours. I looked after the shop</p><p>from six o'clock to 10.30 and sold a few records, but mainly I sat there</p><p>in a daze, watching an incredible variety of people streaming by</p><p>outside. There were families and couples and drunks and gangsters</p><p>and lively-looking girls in short skirts and bearded hippies and bar</p><p>hostesses and some indefinable types. Whenever I put on hard rock,</p><p>hippies and runaway kids would gather outside to dance and sniff</p><p>paint thinner or just sit on the ground doing nothing in particular, and</p><p>when I put on Tony Bennett, they would disappear.</p><p>Next door was a shop where a middle-aged, sleepy-eyed man sold</p><p>"adult toys". I couldn't imagine why anyone would want the kind of</p><p>sex paraphernalia he had there, but he seemed to do a roaring trade. In</p><p>the alley diagonally across from the record shop I saw a drunken</p><p>student vomiting. In the game arcade across from us at another angle,</p><p>199</p><p>the cook from a local restaurant was killing time on his break with a</p><p>game of bingo that took cash bets. Beneath the eaves of a shop that</p><p>had closed for the night, a swarthy homeless guy was crouching,</p><p>motionless. A girl with pale pink lipstick who couldn't have been more</p><p>than 12 or 13 came in and asked me to play the Rolling Stones'</p><p>"Jumpin' Jack Flash". When I found the record and put it on for her,</p><p>she started snapping her fingers to the rhythm and shaking her hips as</p><p>she danced around the shop. Then she asked me for a cigarette. I gave</p><p>her one of the manager's, which she smoked gratefully, and when the</p><p>record ended she left the shop without so much as a "thank you".</p><p>Every 15 minutes or so I would hear the siren of an ambulance or</p><p>police car. Three drunk company executives in suits and ties came by,</p><p>laughing at the top of their voices every time they yelled "Nice arse!"</p><p>at a pretty, long-haired girl in a phone box.</p><p>The more I watched, the more confused I became. What the hell was</p><p>this all about? I wondered. What could it possibly mean?</p><p>The manager came back from dinner and said to me, "Hey, know</p><p>what, Watanabe? Night before last I made it with the boutique chick."</p><p>For some time now he had had his eye on the girl who worked at a</p><p>boutique nearby, and every once in a while he would take a record</p><p>from the shop as a gift for her.</p><p>"Good for you," I said to him, whereupon he told me every last detail</p><p>of his conquest.</p><p>"If you really wanna make a chick, here's what ya gotta do,"</p><p>he began, very pleased with himself. "First, ya gotta give 'er presents.</p><p>Then ya gotta get 'er drunk. I mean really drunk. Then ya just gotta do</p><p>it. It's easy. See what I mean?"</p><p>Head mixed up as ever, I boarded the commuter train and went back</p><p>to my dorm. Closing the curtains, I turned off the lights, stretched out</p><p>in bed, and felt as if Naoko might come crawling in beside me at any</p><p>moment. With my eyes closed, I could feel the soft swell of her</p><p>breasts on my chest, hear her whispering to me, and feel the outline of</p><p>200</p><p>her body in my hands. In the darkness, I returned to that small world</p><p>of hers. I smelled the meadow grass, heard the rain at night. I thought</p><p>of her naked, as I had seen her in the moonlight, and pictured her</p><p>cleaning the aviary and tending to the vegetables with that soft,</p><p>beautiful body of hers wrapped in the yellow raincape. Clutching my</p><p>erection, I thought of Naoko until I came. This seemed to clear my</p><p>brain a little, but it didn't help me sleep. I felt exhausted, desperate for</p><p>sleep, but it simply refused to cooperate.</p><p>I got out of bed and stood at the window, my unfocused eyes</p><p>wandering out towards the flagpole. Without the national flag attached</p><p>to it, the pole looked like a gigantic white bone thrusting up into the</p><p>darkness of night. What was Naoko doing now? I wondered. Of</p><p>course, she must be sleeping, sleeping deeply, shrouded in the</p><p>darkness of that curious little world of hers. Let her be spared from</p><p>anguished dreams, I found myself hoping.</p><p>201</p><p>In P.E. class the next morning, Thursday, I swam several lengths of</p><p>the 50-metre pool. The vigorous exercise cleared my head some more</p><p>and gave me an appetite. After eating a good-sized lunch at a student</p><p>restaurant known for its good-sized lunches, I was on my way to the</p><p>literature department library to do some research when I bumped into</p><p>Midori Kobayashi. She had someone with her, a petite girl with</p><p>glasses, but when she spotted me, she approached me alone.</p><p>"Where you going?" she asked.</p><p>"Lit. library," I said.</p><p>"Why don't you forget it and come have lunch with me?" "I've already</p><p>eaten."</p><p>"So what? Eat again."</p><p>We ended up going to a nearby café where she had a plate of curry</p><p>and I had a cup of coffee. She wore a white, longsleeved shirt under a</p><p>yellow woollen vest with a fish knitted into the design, a narrow gold</p><p>necklace, and a Disney watch. She seemed to enjoy the curry and</p><p>drank three glasses of water with it.</p><p>"Where've you been?" Midori asked. "I don't know how many times I</p><p>called."</p><p>"Was there something you wanted to talk about?" "Nothing special. I</p><p>just called."</p><p>"I see."</p><p>202</p><p>"You see what?"</p><p>"Nothing. Just "I see'," I said. "Any fires lately?"</p><p>"That was fun, wasn't it? It didn't do much damage, but</p><p>that smoke made it feel real. Great stuff." Midori gulped another glass</p><p>of water, took a breath and studied my face for a while. "Hey, what's</p><p>wrong with you?" she asked. "You've got this spaced-out face. Your</p><p>eyes aren't focused."</p><p>"I'm OK," I said. "I just came back from a trip and I'm tired."</p><p>"You look like you've</p><p>just seen a ghost." "I see."</p><p>"Hey, do you have "German and R.E. "Can you skip 'en: "Not</p><p>German. I've "When's it over?" "Two."</p><p>"OK. How about going into the city with me after that some drinks?"</p><p>"At two in the afternoon?!"</p><p>"For a change, why not? You look so spaced. Come on, come drinking</p><p>with me and get a little life into you. That's what I want to do - drink</p><p>with you and get some life into myself.</p><p>What do you say?"</p><p>"OK, let's go," I said with a sigh. "I'll look for you in the Lit. quad at</p><p>two."</p><p>After German we caught a bus to Shinjuku and went to an</p><p>underground bar called DUG behind the Kinokuniya bookshop. We</p><p>each started with two vodka and tonics.</p><p>"I come here once in a while," she said. "They don't make you feel</p><p>embarrassed to be drinking in the afternoon."</p><p>"Do you drink in the afternoon a lot?"</p><p>"Sometimes," she said, rattling the ice in her glass. "Sometimes, when</p><p>the world gets too hard to live in, I come here for a vodka and tonic."</p><p>"Does the world get hard to live in?"</p><p>"Sometimes," said Midori. "I've got my own special little problems."</p><p>"Like what?"</p><p>"Like family, like boyfriends, like irregular periods. Stuff." "So have</p><p>another drink."</p><p>203</p><p>"I will."</p><p>I beckoned to the waiter and ordered two more vodka and tonics.</p><p>"Remember how, when you came over that Sunday, you kissed me?"</p><p>Midori asked. "I've been thinking about it. It was nice. Really nice."</p><p>"That's nice."</p><p>""That's nice'," she mimicked. "The way you talk is so weird!"</p><p>"It is?"</p><p>"Anyway, I was thinking, that time. I was thinking how great it would</p><p>be if that had been the first time in my life a boy had kissed me. If I</p><p>could switch around the order of my life, I would absolutely,</p><p>absolutely make that my first kiss. And then I would live the rest of</p><p>my life thinking stuff like: Hey, I wonder whatever happened to that</p><p>boy named Watanabe I gave my first kiss to on the laundry deck, now</p><p>that he's 58? Wouldn't that be great?"</p><p>"Yeah, really," I said, cracking a pistachio nut.</p><p>"Hey, what is it with you? Why are you so spaced out? You still</p><p>haven't answered me."</p><p>I probably still haven't completely adapted to the world.' I said after</p><p>giving it some thought. "I don't know, I feel like this isn't the real</p><p>world. The people, the scene: they just don't seem real to me."</p><p>Midori rested an elbow on the bar and looked at me. "There was</p><p>something like that in a Jim Morrison song, I'm pretty sure."</p><p>"People are strange when you're a stranger."</p><p>"Peace," said Midori.</p><p>Peace," I said.</p><p>"You really ought to go to Uruguay with me," Midori said, still</p><p>leaning on the bar. "Girlfriend, family, university - just dump 'em all."</p><p>"Not a bad idea," I said, laughing.</p><p>"Don't you think it would be wonderful to get rid of everything and</p><p>everybody and just go somewhere where you don't know a soul?</p><p>Sometimes I feel like doing that. I really, really want to do it</p><p>sometimes. Like, suppose you whisked me somewhere far, far away,</p><p>204</p><p>I'd make lots of babies for you as tough as little bulls. And we'd all</p><p>live happily ever after, rolling on the floor."</p><p>I laughed and drank my third vodka and tonic.</p><p>"I guess you don't really want lots of babies as tough as little bulls</p><p>yet," said Midori.</p><p>"I'm intrigued," I said. "I'd like to see what they look like."</p><p>"That's OK, you don't have to want them," said Midori, eating a</p><p>pistachio. "Here I am, drinking in the afternoon, saying whatever pops</p><p>into my head: "I wanna dump everything and run off somewhere.'</p><p>What's the point of going to Uruguay? All they've got there is donkey</p><p>shit."</p><p>"You may be right."</p><p>"Donkey shit everywhere. Here a shit, there a shit, the whole world is</p><p>donkey shit. Hey, I can't open this. You take it." Midori handed me a</p><p>pistachio nut. I struggled with it until I cracked it open. "But oh, what</p><p>a relief it was last Sunday! Going up to the laundry deck with you,</p><p>watching the fire, drinking beer, singing songs. I don't know how long</p><p>it's been since I had such a total sense of relief. People are always</p><p>trying to force stuff on me. The minute they see me they start telling</p><p>me what to do. At least you don't try to force stuff on me."</p><p>"I don't know you well enough to force stuff on you."</p><p>"You mean, if you knew me better, you'd force stuff on me like</p><p>everyone else?"</p><p>"It's possible," I said. "That's how people live in the real world:</p><p>forcing stuff on each other."</p><p>"You wouldn't do that. I can tell. I'm an expert when it comes to</p><p>forcing stuff and having stuff forced on you. You're not the type.</p><p>That's why I can relax with you. Do you have any idea how many</p><p>people there are in the world who like to force stuff on people and</p><p>have stuff forced on them? Tons! And then they make a big fuss, like</p><p>"I forced her', "You forced me!' That's what they like. But I don't like</p><p>it. I just do it because I have to."</p><p>205</p><p>"What kind of stuff do you force on people or they force on you?"</p><p>Midori put an ice-cube in her mouth and sucked on it for a while.</p><p>"Do you want to get to know me better?" she asked. "Yeah, kind of."</p><p>"Hey, look, I just asked you, "Do you want to get to know me better?'</p><p>What sort of answer is that?"</p><p>"Yes, Midori, I would like to get to know you better," I said. "Really?"</p><p>"Yes, really."</p><p>"Even if you had to turn your eyes away from what you saw?</p><p>'Are you that bad?"</p><p>"Well, in a way," Midori said with a frown. "I want another drink."</p><p>I called the waiter and ordered a fourth round of drinks. Until they</p><p>came, Midori cupped her chin in her hand with her elbow on the bar. I</p><p>kept quiet and listened to Thelonious Monk playing "Honeysuckle</p><p>Rose". There were five or six other customers in the place, but we</p><p>were the only ones drinking alcohol. The rich smell of coffee gave the</p><p>gloomy interior an intimate atmosphere.</p><p>"Are you free this Sunday?" Midori asked.</p><p>"I think I told you before, I'm always free on Sunday. Until I go to</p><p>work at six."</p><p>"OK, then, this Sunday, will you hang out with me?"</p><p>"Sure," I said.</p><p>"I'll pick you up at your dorm Sunday morning. I'm not sure exactly</p><p>what time, though. Is that OK?"</p><p>"Fine," I said. "No problem."</p><p>"Now, let me ask you: do you have any idea what I would like to do</p><p>right now?"</p><p>"I can't imagine."</p><p>"Well, first of all, I want to lie down in a big, wide, fluffy bed. I want</p><p>to get all comfy and drunk and not have any donkey shit anywhere</p><p>nearby, and I want to have you lying down next to me. And then, little</p><p>by little, you take off my clothes. Sooo tenderly. The way a mother</p><p>undresses a little child. Sooo softly."</p><p>206</p><p>"Hmm ..."</p><p>"And I'm just spacing out and feeling really nice until, all of a sudden</p><p>I realize what's happening and I yell at you "Stop it, Watanabe!' And</p><p>then I say "I really like you, Watanabe, but I'm seeing someone else. I</p><p>can't do this. I'm very proper about these things, believe it or not, so</p><p>please stop.' But you</p><p>don't stop."</p><p>"But I would stop," I said.</p><p>"I know that. Never mind, this is just my fantasy," said Midori. "So</p><p>then you show it to me. Your thing. Sticking right up. I immediately</p><p>cover my eyes, of course, but I can't help seeing it for a split second.</p><p>And I say, "Stop it! Don't do that! I don't want anything so big and</p><p>hard!"'</p><p>"It's not so big. Just ordinary."</p><p>"Never mind, this is a fantasy. So then you put on this really sad face,</p><p>and I feel sorry for you and try to comfort you. There there, poor</p><p>thing."</p><p>"And you're telling me that's what you want to do now?" "That's it."</p><p>"Oh boy."</p><p>We left the bar after five rounds of vodka and tonic. When I tried to</p><p>pay, Midori slapped my hand and paid with a brand-new #10,000 note</p><p>she took from her purse.</p><p>"It's OK," she said. "I just got paid, and I invited you. Of course, if</p><p>you're a card-carrying fascist and you refuse to let a woman buy you a</p><p>drink. .."</p><p>"No no, I'm OK."</p><p>"And I didn't let you put it in, either." "Because it's so big and hard," I</p><p>said.</p><p>"Right," said Midori. "Because it's so big and hard."</p><p>A little drunk, Midori missed one step, and we almost fell back down</p><p>the stairs. The layer</p><p>of clouds that had darkened the sky was gone</p><p>207</p><p>now, and the late afternoon sun poured its gentle light on the city</p><p>streets. Midori and I wandered around for a while. She said she</p><p>wanted to climb a tree, but unfortunately there were no climbable trees</p><p>in Shinjuku, and the Shinjuku Imperial Gardens were closing.</p><p>"Too bad," said Midori. "I love climbing trees."</p><p>We continued walking and window-shopping, and soon the street</p><p>scene seemed more real to me than it had before.</p><p>"I'm glad I ran into you," I said. "I think I'm a little more adapted to</p><p>the world now."</p><p>Midori stopped short and peered at me. "It's true," she said. "Your</p><p>eyes are much more in focus than they were. See? Hanging out with</p><p>me does you good."</p><p>"No doubt about it," I said.</p><p>At 5.30 Midori said she had to go home and make dinner. I said I</p><p>would take a bus back to my dorm, and saw her as far as the station.</p><p>"Know what I want to do now?" Midori asked me as she was leaving.</p><p>"I have absolutely no idea what you could be thinking," I said.</p><p>"I want you and me to be captured by pirates. Then they strip us and</p><p>press us together face to face all naked and wind these ropes around</p><p>us."</p><p>"Why would they do a thing like that?"</p><p>"Perverted pirates," she said.</p><p>"You're the perverted one," I said.</p><p>"So then they lock us in the hold and say, "In one hour, we're gonna</p><p>throw you into the sea, so have a good time</p><p>until then'."</p><p>"And ... ?"</p><p>"So we enjoy ourselves for an hour, rolling all over the place and</p><p>twisting our bodies."</p><p>"And that's the main thing you want to do now?"</p><p>"That's it."</p><p>"Oh boy," I said, shaking my head.</p><p>208</p><p>Midori came for me at 9.30 on Sunday morning. I had just woken up</p><p>and hadn't washed my face. Somebody pounded on my door, yelling</p><p>"Hey, Watanabe, it's a woman!" I went down to the lobby to find</p><p>Midori sitting there with her legs crossed wearing an incredibly short</p><p>denim skirt, yawning. Every student passing by on his way to</p><p>breakfast slowed down to stare at her long, slim legs. She did have</p><p>really nice legs.</p><p>"Am I too early?" she asked. "I bet you just woke up."</p><p>"Can you give me 15 minutes? I'll wash my face and shave." "I don't</p><p>mind waiting, but all these guys are staring at</p><p>my legs."</p><p>"What d'you expect, coming into a men's dorm in such a short skirt?</p><p>Of course they're going to stare."</p><p>"Oh, well, it's OK. I'm wearing really cute panties today - all pink and</p><p>frilly and lacy."</p><p>"That just makes it worse," I said with a sigh. I went back to my room</p><p>and washed and shaved as fast as I could, put on a blue button-down</p><p>shirt and a grey tweed sports coat, then went back down and ushered</p><p>Midori out through the dorm gate. I was in a cold sweat.</p><p>"Tell me, Watanabe," Midori said, looking up at the dorm buildings,</p><p>"do all the guys in here wank - rub-a-dub-dub?" "Probably," I said.</p><p>"Do guys think about girls when they do that?"</p><p>"I suppose so. I kind of doubt that anyone thinks about the stock</p><p>market or verb conjugations or the Suez Canal when they wank. Nope,</p><p>I'm pretty sure just about everybody thinks about girls."</p><p>"The Suez Canal?"</p><p>"For example."</p><p>"So I suppose they think about particular girls, right?" "Shouldn't you</p><p>be asking your boyfriend about that?" I</p><p>said. "Why should I have to explain stuff like this to you on a Sunday</p><p>morning?"</p><p>209</p><p>"I was just curious," she said. "Besides, he'd get angry if I asked him</p><p>about stuff like that. He'd say girls aren't supposed to ask all those</p><p>questions."</p><p>"A perfectly normal point of view, I'd say."</p><p>"But I want to know. This is pure curiosity. Do guys think about</p><p>particular girls when they wank?"</p><p>I gave up trying to avoid the question. "Well, I do at least.</p><p>I don't know about anybody else."</p><p>"Have you ever thought about me while you were doing it?</p><p>Tell me the truth. I won't be angry."</p><p>"No, I haven't, to tell the truth," I answered honestly. "Why not?</p><p>Aren't I attractive enough?"</p><p>"Oh, you're attractive, all right. You're cute, and sexy outfits look</p><p>great on you."</p><p>"So why don't you think about me?"</p><p>"Well, first of all, I think of you as a friend, so I don't want to involve</p><p>you in my sexual fantasies, and second - "</p><p>"You've got somebody else you're supposed to be thinking about."</p><p>"That's about the size of it," I said.</p><p>"You have good manners even when it comes to something like this,"</p><p>Midori said. "That's what I like about you. Still, couldn't you allow me</p><p>just one brief appearance? I want to be in one of your sexual fantasies</p><p>or daydreams or whatever you call them. I'm asking you because we're</p><p>friends. Who else can I ask for something like that? I can't just walk</p><p>up to anyone and say, "When you wank tonight, will you please think</p><p>of me for a second?' It's because I think of you as a friend that I'm</p><p>asking. And I want you to tell me later what it was like. You know,</p><p>what you did and stuff."</p><p>I let out a sigh.</p><p>"You can't put it in, though. Because we're just friends. Right? As</p><p>long as you don't put it in, you can do anything you like, think</p><p>anything you want."</p><p>210</p><p>"I don't know, I've never done it with so many restrictions before," I</p><p>said.</p><p>"Will you just think about me?"</p><p>"All right, I'll think about you."</p><p>"You know, Watanabe, I don't want you to get the wrong impression -</p><p>that I'm a nymphomaniac or frustrated or a tease or anything. I'm just</p><p>interested in that stuff. I want to know about it. I grew up surrounded</p><p>by nothing but girls in a girls' school, you know that. I want to find out</p><p>what guys are thinking and how their bodies are put together. And not</p><p>just from pull-out sections in the women's magazines but actual case</p><p>studies."</p><p>"Case studies?" I groaned.</p><p>"But my boyfriend doesn't like it when I want to know things or try</p><p>things. He gets angry, calls me a nympho or crazy. He won't even let</p><p>me give him a blow job. Now, that's one thing I'm dying to study."</p><p>"Uh-huh."</p><p>"Do you hate getting blow jobs?"</p><p>"No, not really, I don't hate it."</p><p>"Would you say you like it?"</p><p>"Yeah, I'd say that. But can we talk about this next time? Here it is, a</p><p>really nice Sunday morning, and I don't want to ruin it talking about</p><p>wanking and blow jobs. Let's talk about something else. Is your</p><p>boyfriend at the same university as us?"</p><p>"Nope, he goes to another one, of course. We met at school during a</p><p>club activity. I was in the girls' school, he was in the boys', and you</p><p>know how they do those things, joint concerts and stuff. We got</p><p>serious after our exams, though. Hey, Watanabe."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"You only have to do it once. Just think about me, OK?"</p><p>"OK, I'll give it a try, next time," I said, throwing in the towel.</p><p>We took a commuter train to Ochanomizu. When we transferred at</p><p>211</p><p>Shinjuku I bought a thin sandwich at a stand in the station to make up</p><p>for the breakfast I hadn't eaten. The coffee I had with it tasted like</p><p>boiled printer's ink. The Sunday morning trains were filled with</p><p>couples and families on outings. A group of boys with baseball bats</p><p>and matching uniforms scampered around inside the carriage. Several</p><p>of the girls on the train had short skirts on, but none as short as</p><p>Midori's. Midori would pull on hers every now and then as it rode up.</p><p>Some of the men stared at her thighs, which made me feel uneasy, but</p><p>she didn't seem to mind.</p><p>"Know what I'd like to do right now?" she whispered when we had</p><p>been travelling a while.</p><p>"No idea," I said. "But please, don't talk about that stuff here.</p><p>Somebody'll hear you."</p><p>"Too bad. This one's kind of wild," Midori said with obvious</p><p>disappointment.</p><p>'Anyway, why are we going to Ochanomizu?"</p><p>"Just come along, you'll see."</p><p>With all the cram schools around Ochanomizu Station, on Sunday the</p><p>area was full of school kids on their way to classes or exam practice.</p><p>Midori barged through the crowds clutching the strap of her shoulder</p><p>bag with one hand and my hand with the other.</p><p>Without warning, she asked me, "Hey, Watanabe, can you explain the</p><p>difference between the English present subjunctive and past</p><p>subjunctive?"</p><p>"I think I can," I said.</p><p>and high cheekbones, he always wore the same</p><p>outfit: white shirt, black trousers, black shoes, navy-blue jumper. To</p><p>these he would add a uniform jacket and black briefcase when he went</p><p>to his university: a typical right-wing student. Which is why</p><p>everybody called him Storm Trooper. But in fact he was totally</p><p>indifferent to politics. He wore a uniform because he didn't want to be</p><p>bothered choosing clothes. What interested him were things like</p><p>changes in the coastline or the completion of a new railway tunnel.</p><p>Nothing else. He'd go on for hours once he got started on a subject</p><p>like that, until you either ran away or fell asleep.</p><p>He was up at six each morning with the strains of "May Our Lord's</p><p>Reign". Which is to say that that ostentatious flag-raising ritual was</p><p>not entirely useless. He'd get dressed, go to the bathroom and wash his</p><p>face - for ever. I sometimes got the feeling he must be taking out each</p><p>tooth and washing it, one at a time. Back in the room, he would snap</p><p>the wrinkles out of his towel and lay it on the radiator to dry, then</p><p>return his toothbrush and soap to the shelf. Finally he'd do radio</p><p>21</p><p>callisthenics with the rest of the nation.</p><p>I was used to reading late at night and sleeping until eight o'clock, so</p><p>even when he started shuffling around the room and exercising, I</p><p>remained unconscious - until the part where he started jumping. He</p><p>took his jumping seriously and made the bed bounce every time he hit</p><p>the floor. I stood it for three days because they had told us that</p><p>communal life called for a certain degree of resignation, but by the</p><p>morning of the fourth day, I couldn't take it any more.</p><p>"Hey, can you do that on the roof or somewhere?" I said. "I can't</p><p>sleep."</p><p>"But it's already 6.30!" he said, open-mouthed.</p><p>"Yeah, I know it's 6.30. I'm still supposed to be asleep. I don't know</p><p>how to explain it exactly, but that's how it works for me."</p><p>"Anyway, I can't do it on the roof. Somebody on the third floor would</p><p>complain. Here, we're over a storeroom."</p><p>"So go out on the quad. On the lawn."</p><p>"That's no good, either. I don't have a transistor radio. I need to plug it</p><p>in. And you can't do radio callisthenics without music."</p><p>True, his radio was an old piece of junk without batteries. Mine was a</p><p>transistor portable, but it was strictly FM, for music.</p><p>"OK, let's compromise," I said. "Do your exercises but cut out the</p><p>jumping part. It's so damned noisy. What do you say?"</p><p>"J-jumping? What's that?"</p><p>"Jumping is jumping. Bouncing up and down." "But there isn't any</p><p>jumping."</p><p>My head was starting to hurt. I was ready to give up, but I wanted to</p><p>make my point. I got out of bed and started bouncing up and down</p><p>and singing the opening melody of NHK's radio callisthenics. "I'm</p><p>talking about this," I said.</p><p>"Oh, that. I guess you're right. I never noticed."</p><p>"See what I mean?" I said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Just cut out</p><p>that part. I can put up with the rest. Stop jumping and let me sleep."</p><p>22</p><p>"But that's impossible," he said matter-of-factly. "I can't leave</p><p>anything out. I've been doing the same thing every day for ten years,</p><p>and once I start I do the whole routine unconsciously. If I left</p><p>something out, I wouldn't be able to do any of it."</p><p>There was nothing more for me to say. What could I have said? The</p><p>quickest way to put a stop to this was to wait for him to leave the</p><p>room and throw his goddamn radio out the goddamn window, but I</p><p>knew if I did that all hell would break loose. Storm Trooper treasured</p><p>everything he owned. He smiled when he saw me sitting on the bed at</p><p>a loss for words, and tried to comfort me.</p><p>"Hey, Watanabe, why don't you just get up and exercise with me?"</p><p>And he went off to breakfast.</p><p>Naoko chuckled when I told her the story of Storm Trooper and his</p><p>radio callisthenics. I hadn't been trying to amuse her, but I ended up</p><p>laughing myself. Though her smile vanished in an instant, I enjoyed</p><p>seeing it for the first time in a long while.</p><p>We had left the train at Yotsuya and were walking along the</p><p>embankment by the station. It was a Sunday afternoon in the middle</p><p>of May. The brief on-and-off showers of the morning had cleared up</p><p>before noon, and a south wind had swept away the low-hanging</p><p>clouds. The brilliant green leaves of the cherry trees stirred in the air,</p><p>splashing sunlight in all directions. This was an early summer day.</p><p>The people we passed carried their jumpers or jackets over their</p><p>shoulders or in their arms. Everyone looked happy in the warm</p><p>Sunday afternoon sun. The young men playing tennis in the courts</p><p>beyond the embankment had stripped down to their shorts. Only</p><p>where two nuns in winter habits sat talking on a bench did the summer</p><p>light seem not to reach, though both wore looks of satisfaction as they</p><p>enjoyed chatting in the sun.</p><p>Fifteen minutes of walking and I was sweaty enough to take off my</p><p>thick cotton shirt and go with a T-shirt. Naoko had rolled the sleeves</p><p>23</p><p>of her light grey sweatshirt up to her elbows. It was nicely faded,</p><p>obviously having been washed many times. I felt as if I had seen her</p><p>in that shirt long before. This was just a feeling I had, not a clear</p><p>memory. I didn't have that much to remember about Naoko at the</p><p>time.</p><p>"How do you like communal living?" she asked. "Is it fun to live with</p><p>a lot of other people?"</p><p>"I don't know, I've only been doing it a month or so. It's not that bad, I</p><p>can stand it."</p><p>She stopped at a fountain and took a sip, wiping her mouth with a</p><p>white handkerchief she took from her trouser pocket. Then she bent</p><p>over and carefully retied her laces.</p><p>"Do you think I could do it?"</p><p>"What? Living in a dorm?"</p><p>"Uh-huh."</p><p>"I suppose it's all a matter of attitude. You could let a lot of things</p><p>bother you if you wanted to - the rules, the idiots who think they're hot</p><p>shit, the room-mates doing radio callisthenics at 6.30 in the morning.</p><p>But it's pretty much the same anywhere you go, you can manage."</p><p>"I guess so," she said with a nod. She seemed to be turning something</p><p>over in her mind. Then she looked straight into my eyes as if peering</p><p>at some unusual object. Now I saw that her eyes were so deep and</p><p>clear they made my heart thump. I realized that I had never had</p><p>occasion to look into her eyes like this. It was the first time the two of</p><p>us had ever gone walking together or talked at such length.</p><p>"Are you thinking about living in a dorm or something?" I asked.</p><p>"Uh-uh," she said. "I was just wondering what communal life would</p><p>be like. And. .." She seemed to be trying - and failing - to find exactly</p><p>the right word or expression. Then she sighed and looked down. "Oh,</p><p>I don't know. Never mind."</p><p>That was the end of the conversation. She continued walking east, and</p><p>I followed just behind.</p><p>24</p><p>Almost a year had gone by since I had last seen Naoko, and in that</p><p>time she had lost so much weight as to look like a different person.</p><p>The plump cheeks that had been a special feature of hers were all but</p><p>gone, and her neck had become delicate and slender. Not that she was</p><p>bony now or unhealthy looking: there was something natural and</p><p>serene about the way she had slimmed down, as if she had been hiding</p><p>in some long, narrow space until she herself had become long and</p><p>narrow. And a lot prettier than I remembered. I wanted to tell her that,</p><p>but couldn't find a good way to put it.</p><p>We had not planned to meet but had run into each other on the Chuo</p><p>commuter line. She had decided to see a film by herself, and I was</p><p>headed for the bookshops in Kanda - nothing urgent in either case.</p><p>She had suggested that we leave the train, which we happened to do in</p><p>Yotsuya, where the green embankment makes for a nice place to walk</p><p>by the old castle moat. Alone together, we had nothing in particular to</p><p>talk about, and I wasn't quite sure why Naoko had suggested we get</p><p>off the train. We had never really had much to say to each other.</p><p>Naoko started walking the minute we hit the street, and I hurried after</p><p>her, keeping a few paces behind.</p><p>"Let me ask you, then, what possible use is stuff like that for everyday</p><p>life?"</p><p>"None at all," I said. "It may not serve any concrete purpose, but it</p><p>does give you some kind of training to help you grasp things in</p><p>general more systematically."</p><p>Midori gave that a moment's serious thought. "You're amazing," she</p><p>said. "That never occurred to me before. I always thought of things</p><p>212</p><p>like the subjunctive case and differential calculus and chemical</p><p>symbols as totally useless. A pain in the neck. So I've always ignored</p><p>them. Now I have to wonder if my whole life has been a mistake."</p><p>"You've ignored them?"</p><p>"Yeah. Like, for me, they didn't exist. I don't have the slightest idea</p><p>what "sine' and "cosine' mean."</p><p>"That's incredible! How did you pass your exams? How did you get</p><p>into university?"</p><p>"Don't be silly," said Midori. "You don't have to know anything to</p><p>pass entrance exams! All you need is a little intuition - and I have</p><p>great intuition. "Choose the correct answer from the following three.' I</p><p>know immediately which one is right."</p><p>"My intuition's not as good as yours, so I have to be systematic to</p><p>some extent. Like the way a magpie collects bits of glass in a hollow</p><p>tree."</p><p>"Does it serve some purpose?"</p><p>"I wonder. It probably makes it easier to do some things." "What kind</p><p>of things? Give me an example." "Metaphysical thought, say.</p><p>Mastering several languages." "What good does that do?"</p><p>"It depends on the person who does it. It serves a purpose for some,</p><p>and not for others. But mainly it's training. Whether</p><p>it serves a purpose or not is another question. Like I said." "Hmm,"</p><p>said Midori, seemingly impressed. She led me by</p><p>the hand down the hill. "You know, Watanabe, you're really</p><p>good at explaining things to people."</p><p>"I wonder," I said.</p><p>"It's true. I've asked hundreds of people what use the</p><p>English subjunctive is, and not one of them gave me a good,</p><p>clear answer like yours. Not even English teachers. They either</p><p>got confused or angry or laughed it off. Nobody ever gave me</p><p>a decent answer. If somebody like you had been around when</p><p>I asked my question, and had given me a proper explanation,</p><p>213</p><p>even I might have been interested in the subjunctive. Damn!" "Hmm,"</p><p>I said.</p><p>"Have you ever read Das Kapital?"</p><p>"Yeah. Not the whole thing, of course, but parts, like most</p><p>people."</p><p>"Did you understand it?"</p><p>"I understood some bits, not others. You have to acquire the</p><p>necessary intellectual apparatus to read a book like Das Kapital.</p><p>I think I understand the general idea of Marxism, though." "Do you</p><p>think a first-year student who hasn't read books</p><p>like that can understand Das Kapital just by reading it?" "That's pretty</p><p>nigh impossible, I'd say."</p><p>"You know, when I went to university I joined a folk-music</p><p>club. I just wanted to sing songs. But the members were a load of</p><p>frauds. I get goose-bumps just thinking about them. The first thing</p><p>they tell you when you enter the club is you have to read Marx. "Read</p><p>page so-and-so to such-and-such for next time.' Somebody gave a</p><p>lecture on how folk songs have to be deeply involved with society and</p><p>the radical movement. So, what the hell, I went home and tried as hard</p><p>as I could to read it, but I didn't understand a thing. It was worse than</p><p>the subjunctive. I gave up after three pages. So I went to the next</p><p>week's meeting like a good little scout and said I had read it, but I</p><p>couldn't understand it. From that point on they treated me like an idiot.</p><p>I had no critical awareness of the class struggle, they said, I was a</p><p>social cripple. I mean, this was serious. And all because I said I</p><p>couldn't understand a piece of writing. Don't you think they were</p><p>terrible?"</p><p>"Uh-huh," I said.</p><p>"And their so-called discussions were terrible, too. Everybody would</p><p>use big words and pretend they knew what was going on. But I would</p><p>ask questions whenever I didn't understand something. "What is this</p><p>imperialist exploitation stuff you're talking about? Is it connected</p><p>214</p><p>somehow to the East India Company?' "Does smashing the</p><p>educational-industrial complex mean we're not supposed to work for a</p><p>company after we graduate?' And stuff like that. But nobody was</p><p>willing to explain anything to me. Far from it - they got really angry.</p><p>Can you believe it?"</p><p>"Yeah, I can," I said.</p><p>"One guy yelled at me, "You stupid bitch, how do you live like that</p><p>with nothing in your brain?' Well, that did it. I wasn't going to put up</p><p>with that. OK, so I'm not so smart. I'm working class. But it's the</p><p>working class that keeps the world running, and it's the working</p><p>classes that get exploited. What kind of revolution is it that just throws</p><p>out big words that working-class people can't understand? What kind</p><p>of crap social revolution is that? I mean, I'd like to make the world a</p><p>better place, too. If somebody's really being exploited, we've got to</p><p>put a stop to it. That's what I believe, and that's why I ask questions.</p><p>Am I right, or what?"</p><p>"You're right."</p><p>"So that's when it hit me. These guys are fakes. All they've got on</p><p>their minds is impressing the new girls with the big words they're so</p><p>proud of, while sticking their hands up their skirts. And when they</p><p>graduate, they cut their hair short and march off to work for</p><p>Mitsubishi or IBM or Fuji Bank. They marry pretty wives who've</p><p>never read Marx and have kids they give fancy new names to that are</p><p>enough to make you puke. Smash what educational-industrial</p><p>complex? Don't make me laugh! And the new members were just as</p><p>bad. They didn't understand a thing either, but they pretended to and</p><p>they were laughing at me. After the meeting, they told me, "Don't be</p><p>silly! So what if you don't understand? Just agree with everything they</p><p>say.' Hey, Watanabe, I've got stuff that made me even madder than</p><p>that. Wanna hear it?"</p><p>"Sure, why not?"</p><p>"Well, one time they called a late-night political meeting, and they</p><p>215</p><p>told each girl to make 20 rice balls for midnight snacks. I mean, talk</p><p>about sex discrimination! I decided to keep quiet for a change, though,</p><p>and showed up like a good girl with my 20 rice balls, complete with</p><p>umeboshi inside and nori outside. And what do you think I got for my</p><p>efforts? Afterwards people complained because my rice balls had only</p><p>umeboshi inside, and I hadn't brought anything along to go with them!</p><p>The other girls stuffed theirs with cod roe and salmon, and they</p><p>included nice, thick slices of fried egg. I got so furious I couldn't talk!</p><p>Who the hell do these ,revolution'-mongers think they are making a</p><p>fuss over rice balls? They should be grateful for umeboshi and nori.</p><p>Think of the children starving in India!"</p><p>I laughed. "So then what happened with your club?"</p><p>"I left in June, I was so furious," Midori said. "Most of these student</p><p>types are total frauds. They're scared to death somebody's gonna find</p><p>out they don't know something. They all read the same books and they</p><p>all spout the same slogans, and they love listening to John Coltrane</p><p>and seeing Pasolini movies. You call that "revolution?"'</p><p>"Hey, don't ask me, I've never actually seen a revolution." "Well, if</p><p>that's revolution, you can stick it. They'd probably shoot me for</p><p>putting umeboshi in my rice balls. They'd shoot you, too, for</p><p>understanding the subjunctive." "It could happen."</p><p>"Believe me, I know what I'm talking about. I'm working class.</p><p>Revolution or not, the working class will just keep on scraping a</p><p>living in the same old shitholes. And what is a revolution? It sure as</p><p>hell isn't just changing the name on city hall. But those guys don't</p><p>know that - those guys with their big words. Tell me, Watanabe, have</p><p>you ever seen a taxman?"</p><p>"Never."</p><p>"Well I have. Lots of times. They come barging in and acting big.</p><p>"What's this ledger for?' "Hey, you keep pretty sloppy records.' "You</p><p>call this a business expense?' "I want to see all your receipts right</p><p>now.' Meanwhile, we're crouching in the corner, and when suppertime</p><p>216</p><p>comes we have to treat them to sushi deluxe -</p><p>I could have closed the distance</p><p>between us, but something held me back. I walked with my eyes on</p><p>her shoulders and her straight black hair. She wore a big, brown</p><p>hairslide, and when she turned her head I caught a glimpse of a small,</p><p>white ear. Now and then she would look back and say something.</p><p>Sometimes it would be a remark I might have responded to, and some-</p><p>times it would be something to which I had no idea how to reply.</p><p>Other times, I simply couldn't hear what she was saying. She didn't</p><p>seem to care one way or another. Once she had finished saying</p><p>whatever she wanted to say, she'd face front again and keep on</p><p>walking. Oh, well, I told myself, it was a nice day for a stroll.</p><p>This was no mere stroll for Naoko, though, judging from that walk.</p><p>She turned right at Lidabashi, came out at the moat, crossed the</p><p>intersection at Jinbocho, climbed the hill at Ochanomizu and came out</p><p>25</p><p>at Hongo. From there she followed the tram tracks to Komagome. It</p><p>was a challenging route. By the time we reached Komagome, the sun</p><p>was sinking and the day had become a soft spring evening.</p><p>"Where are we?" asked Naoko, as if noticing our surroundings for the</p><p>first time.</p><p>"Komagome," I said. "Didn't you know? We made this big arc."</p><p>"Why did we come here?"</p><p>"You brought us here. I was just following you."</p><p>We went to a shop by the station for a bowl of noodles. Thirsty, I had</p><p>a whole beer to myself. Neither of us said a word from the time we</p><p>gave our order to the time we finished eating. I was exhausted from all</p><p>that walking, and she just sat there with her hands on the table,</p><p>mulling something over again. All the leisure spots were crowded on</p><p>this warm Sunday, they were saying on the TV news. And we just</p><p>walked from Yotsuya to Komagome, I said to myself.</p><p>"Well, you're in good shape," I said when I had finished my noodles.</p><p>"Surprised?"</p><p>"Yeah."</p><p>"I was a long distance runner at school, I'll have you know. I used to</p><p>do the 10,000 metres. And my father took me mountain climbing on</p><p>Sundays ever since I can remember. You know our house - right there,</p><p>next to the mountain. I've always had strong legs."</p><p>"It doesn't show," I said.</p><p>"I know," she answered. "Everybody thinks I'm this delicate little girl.</p><p>But you can't judge a book by its cover." To which she added a</p><p>momentary smile.</p><p>"And that goes for me, too," I said. "I'm worn out."</p><p>"Oh, I'm sorry, I've been dragging you around all day." "Still, I'm glad</p><p>we had a chance to talk. We've never done that before, just the two of</p><p>us," I said, trying without success to recall what we had talked about.</p><p>She was playing with the ashtray on the table.</p><p>"I wonder. .." she began, ". . . if you wouldn't mind ... I mean, if it</p><p>26</p><p>really wouldn't be any bother to you ... Do you think we could see</p><p>each other again? I know I don't have any right to be asking you this."</p><p>"Any right? What do you mean by that?"</p><p>She blushed. My reaction to her request might have been a little too</p><p>strong.</p><p>"I don't know ... I can't really explain it," she said, tugging the sleeves</p><p>of her sweatshirt up over the elbows and down again. The soft hair on</p><p>her arms shone a lovely golden colour in the lights of the shop. "I</p><p>didn't mean to say "right' exactly. I was looking for another way to put</p><p>it."</p><p>Elbows on the table, she stared at the calendar on the wall, almost as</p><p>though she were hoping to find the proper expression there. Failing,</p><p>she sighed and closed her eyes and played with her hairslide.</p><p>"Never mind," I said. "I think I know what you're getting at. I'm not</p><p>sure how to put it, either."</p><p>"I can never say what I want to say," continued Naoko. "It's been like</p><p>this for a while now. I try to say something, but all I get are the wrong</p><p>words - the wrong words or the exact opposite words from what I</p><p>mean. I try to correct myself, and that only makes it worse. I lose track</p><p>of what I was trying to say to begin with. It's like I'm split in two and</p><p>playing tag with myself. One half is chasing the other half around this</p><p>big, fat post. The other me has the right words, but this me can't catch</p><p>her." She raised her face and looked into my eyes. "Does this make</p><p>any sense to you?"</p><p>"Everybody feels like that to some extent," I said. "They're trying to</p><p>express themselves and it bothers t can't get it right."</p><p>Naoko looked disappointed with my answer. "No, that’s not it either,"</p><p>she said without further explanation</p><p>"Anyway, I'd be glad to see you again," I said. "I'm always free on</p><p>Sundays, and walking would be good for me."</p><p>We boarded the Yamanote Line, and Naoko transferred to the Chuo</p><p>Line at Shinjuku. She was living in a tiny flat way out in the western</p><p>27</p><p>suburb of Kokubunji.</p><p>"Tell me," she said as we parted. "Has anything changed about the</p><p>way I talk?"</p><p>"I think so," I said, "but I'm not sure what. Tell you the truth, I know I</p><p>saw you a lot back then, but I don't remember talking to you much."</p><p>"That's true," she said. "Anyway, can I call you on Saturday?"</p><p>"Sure. I'll be expecting to hear from you."</p><p>I first met Naoko when I was in the sixth-form at school. She was also</p><p>in the sixth-form at a posh girls' school run by one of the Christian</p><p>missions. The school was so refined you were considered unrefined if</p><p>you studied too much. Naoko was the girlfriend of my best (and only)</p><p>friend, Kizuki. The two of them had been close almost from birth,</p><p>their houses not 200 yards apart.</p><p>As with most couples who have been together since childhood, there</p><p>was a casual openness about the relationship of Kizuki and Naoko and</p><p>little sense that they wanted to be alone together. They were always</p><p>visiting each other's homes and eating or playing mah-jong with each</p><p>other's families. I double-dated with them any number of times. Naoko</p><p>would bring a school friend for me and the four of us would go to the</p><p>zoo or the pool or the cinema. The girls she brought were always</p><p>pretty, but a little too refined for my taste. I got along better with the</p><p>somewhat cruder girls from my own State school who were easier to</p><p>talk to. I could never tell what was going on inside the pretty heads of</p><p>the girls that Naoko brought along, and they probably couldn't</p><p>understand me, either.</p><p>After a while, Kizuki gave up trying to arrange dates for me, and</p><p>instead the three of us would do things together. Kizuki and Naoko</p><p>and I: odd, but that was the most comfortable combination.</p><p>Introducing a fourth person into the mix would always make things a</p><p>little awkward. We were like a TV talk show, with me the guest,</p><p>Kizuki the talented host, and Naoko his assistant. He was good at</p><p>28</p><p>occupying that central position. True, he had a sarcastic side that often</p><p>struck people as arrogant, but in fact he was a considerate and fair-</p><p>minded person. He would distribute his remarks and jokes fairly to</p><p>Naoko and to me, taking care to see that neither of us felt left out. If</p><p>one or the other stayed quiet too long, he would steer his conversation</p><p>in that direction and get the person to talk. It probably looked harder</p><p>than it was: he knew how to monitor and adjust the air around him on</p><p>a second-by-second basis. In addition, he had a rare talent for finding</p><p>the interesting parts of someone's generally uninteresting comments so</p><p>that, while speaking to him, you felt you were an exceptionally</p><p>interesting person with an exceptionally interesting life.</p><p>And yet he was not the least bit sociable. I was his only real friend at</p><p>school. I could never understand why such a smart and capable talker</p><p>did not turn his talents to the broader world around him but remained</p><p>satisfied to concentrate on our little trio. Nor could I understand why</p><p>he picked me to be his friend. I was just an ordinary kid who liked to</p><p>read books and listen to music and didn't stand out in any way that</p><p>would prompt someone like Kizuki to pay attention to me. We hit it</p><p>off straight away, though. His father was a dentist, known for his</p><p>professional skill and his high fees.</p><p>"Want to double-date Sunday?" he asked me just</p><p>after we met. "My</p><p>girlfriend goes to a girls' school, and she'll bring along a cute one for</p><p>you."</p><p>"Sure," I said, and that was how I met Naoko.</p><p>The three of us spent a lot of time together, but whenever Kizuki left</p><p>the room, Naoko and I had trouble talking to each other. We never</p><p>knew what to talk about. And in fact there was no topic of</p><p>conversation that we had in common. Instead of talking, we'd drink</p><p>water or toy with something on the table and wait for Kizuki to come</p><p>back and start up the conversation again. Naoko was not particularly</p><p>talkative, and I was more of a listener than a talker, so I felt</p><p>29</p><p>uncomfortable when I was left alone with her. Not that we were</p><p>incompatible: we just had nothing to talk about.</p><p>Naoko and I saw each other only once after Kizuki's funeral. Two</p><p>weeks after the event, we met at a café to take care of some minor</p><p>matter, and when that was finished we had nothing more to say. I tried</p><p>raising several different topics, but none of them led anywhere. And</p><p>when Naoko did talk, there was an edge to her voice. She seemed</p><p>angry with me, but I had no idea why. We never saw each other again</p><p>until that day a year later we happened to meet on the Chuo Line in</p><p>Tokyo.</p><p>Naoko might have been angry with me because I, not she, had been</p><p>the last one to see Kizuki. That may not be the best way to put it, but I</p><p>more or less understood how she felt. I would have swapped places</p><p>with her if I could have, but finally, what had happened had happened,</p><p>and there was nothing I could do about it.</p><p>It had been a nice afternoon in May. After lunch, Kizuki suggested we</p><p>skip classes and go play pool or something. I had no special interest in</p><p>my afternoon classes, so together we left school, ambled down the hill</p><p>to a pool hall on the harbour, and played four games. When I won the</p><p>first, easy-going game, he became serious and won the next three.</p><p>This meant I paid, according to our custom. Kizuki didn't make a</p><p>single joke as we played, which was most unusual. We smoked</p><p>afterwards.</p><p>"Why so serious?" I asked.</p><p>"I didn't want to lose today," said Kizuki with a satisfied smile.</p><p>He died that night in his garage. He led a rubber hose from the exhaust</p><p>pipe of his N-360 to a window, taped over the gap in the window, and</p><p>revved the engine. I have no idea how long it took him to die. His</p><p>parents had been out visiting a sick relative, and when they opened the</p><p>garage to put their car away, he was already dead. His radio was</p><p>going, and a petrol station receipt was tucked under the windscreen</p><p>30</p><p>wiper.</p><p>Kizuki had left no suicide note, and had no motive that anyone could</p><p>think of. Because I had been the last one to see him, I was called in for</p><p>questioning by the police. I told the investigating officer that Kizuki</p><p>had given no indication of what he was about to do, that he had been</p><p>exactly the same as always. The policeman had obviously formed a</p><p>poor impression of both Kizuki and me, as if it was perfectly natural</p><p>for the kind of person who would skip classes and play pool to</p><p>commit suicide. A small article in the paper brought the affair to a</p><p>close. Kizuki's parents got rid of his red N-360. For a time, a white</p><p>flower marked his school desk.</p><p>In the ten months between Kizuki's death and my exams, I was unable</p><p>to find a place for myself in the world around me. I started sleeping</p><p>with one of the girls at school, but that didn't last six months. Nothing</p><p>about her really got to me. I applied to a private university in Tokyo,</p><p>the kind of place with an entrance exam for which I wouldn't have to</p><p>study much, and I passed without exhilaration. The girl asked me not</p><p>to go to Tokyo - "It's 500 miles from here!" she pleaded - but I had to</p><p>get away from Kobe at any cost. I wanted to begin a new life where I</p><p>didn't know a soul.</p><p>"You don't give a damn about me any more, now that you've slept</p><p>with me," she said, crying.</p><p>"That's not true," I insisted. "I just need to get away from this town."</p><p>But she was not prepared to understand me. And so we parted.</p><p>Thinking about all the things that made her so much nicer than the</p><p>other girls at home, I sat on the bullet train to Tokyo feeling terrible</p><p>about what I'd done, but there was no way to undo it. I would try to</p><p>forget her.</p><p>There was only one thing for me to do when I started my new life in</p><p>the dorm: stop taking everything so seriously; establish a proper</p><p>distance between myself and everything else. Forget about green baize</p><p>pool tables and red N-360s and white flowers on school desks; about</p><p>31</p><p>smoke rising from tall crematorium chimneys, and chunky</p><p>paperweights in police interrogation rooms. It seemed to work at first.</p><p>I tried hard to forget, but there remained inside me a vague knot of air.</p><p>And as time went by, the knot began to take on a clear and simple</p><p>form, a form that I am able to put into words, like this:</p><p>Death exists, not as the opposite but as a part of life.</p><p>It's a cliché translated into words, but at the time I felt it not as words</p><p>but as that knot of air inside me. Death exists - in a paperweight, in</p><p>four red and white balls on a pool table - and we go on living and</p><p>breathing it into our lungs like fine dust.</p><p>Until that time, I had understood death as something entirely separate</p><p>from and independent of life. The hand of death is bound to take us, I</p><p>had felt, but until the day it reaches out for us, it leaves us alone. This</p><p>had seemed to me the simple, logical truth. Life is here, death is over</p><p>there. I am here, not over there.</p><p>The night Kizuki died, however, I lost the ability to see death (and</p><p>life) in such simple terms. Death was not the opposite of life. It was</p><p>already here, within my being, it had</p><p>always been here, and no struggle would permit me to forget that.</p><p>When it took the 17-year-old Kizuki that night in May, death took me</p><p>as well.</p><p>I lived through the following spring, at 18, with that knot of air in my</p><p>chest, but I struggled all the while against becoming serious.</p><p>Becoming serious was not the same thing as approaching the truth, I</p><p>sensed, however vaguely. But death was a fact, a serious fact, no</p><p>matter how you looked at it. Stuck inside this suffocating</p><p>contradiction, I went on endlessly spinning in circles. Those were</p><p>strange days, now that I look back at them. In the midst of life,</p><p>everything revolved around death.</p><p>32</p><p>Naoko called me the following Saturday, and that Sunday we had a</p><p>date. I suppose I can call it a date. I can't think of a better word for it.</p><p>As before, we walked the streets. We stopped somewhere</p><p>for coffee, walked some more, had dinner in the evening, and</p><p>said goodbye. Again, she talked only in snatches, but this didn't seem</p><p>to bother her, and I made no special effort to keep the conversation</p><p>going. We talked about whatever came to mind - our daily routines,</p><p>our colleges; each a little fragment that led nowhere. We said nothing</p><p>at all about the past. And mainly, we walked - and walked, and</p><p>walked. Fortunately, Tokyo is such a big city we could never have</p><p>covered it all.</p><p>We kept on walking like this almost every weekend. She would lead,</p><p>and I would follow close behind. Naoko had a variety of hairslides</p><p>and always wore them with her right ear exposed. I remember her</p><p>most clearly this way, from the back. She would toy with her hairslide</p><p>whenever she felt embarrassed by something. And she was always</p><p>dabbing at her mouth with a handkerchief. She did this whenever she</p><p>had something to say. The more I observed these habits of hers, the</p><p>more I came to like her.</p><p>Naoko went to a girls' college on the rural western edge of Tokyo, a</p><p>nice little place famous for its teaching of English.</p><p>Nearby was a narrow irrigation canal with clean, clear water, and</p><p>Naoko and I would often walk along its banks. Sometimes she would</p><p>invite me up to her flat and cook for me. It never seemed to concern</p><p>her that the two of us were in such close quarters together. The room</p><p>was small and neat and so lacking in frills that</p><p>only the stockings</p><p>drying in the corner by the window gave any hint that a girl lived</p><p>33</p><p>there. She led a spare, simple life with hardly any friends. No one who</p><p>had known her at school could have imagined her like this. Back then,</p><p>she had dressed with real flair and surrounded herself with a million</p><p>friends. When I saw her room, I realized that, like me, she had wanted</p><p>to go away to college and begin a new life far from anyone she knew.</p><p>"Know why I chose this place?" she said with a smile. "Because</p><p>nobody from home was coming here. We were all supposed to go</p><p>somewhere more chic. You know what I mean?"</p><p>My relationship with Naoko was not without its progress, though.</p><p>Little by little, she grew more accustomed to me, and I to her. When</p><p>the summer holidays ended and a new term started, Naoko began</p><p>walking next to me as if it were the most natural thing in the world to</p><p>do. She saw me as a friend now, I concluded, and walking side by side</p><p>with such a beautiful girl was by no means painful for me. We kept</p><p>walking all over Tokyo in the same meandering way, climbing hills,</p><p>crossing rivers and railway lines, just walking and walking with no</p><p>destination in mind. We forged straight ahead, as if our walking were</p><p>a religious ritual meant to heal our wounded spirits. If it rained, we</p><p>used umbrellas, but in any case we walked.</p><p>Then came autumn, and the dormitory grounds were buried in zelkova</p><p>leaves. The fragrance of a new season arrived when I put on my first</p><p>pullover. Having worn out one pair of shoes, I bought some new suede</p><p>ones.</p><p>I can't seem to recall what we talked about then. Nothing special, I</p><p>expect. We continued to avoid any mention of the past and rarely</p><p>spoke about Kizuki. We could face each other over coffee cups in</p><p>total silence.</p><p>Naoko liked to hear me tell stories about Storm Trooper. Once he had</p><p>a date with a fellow student (a girl in geography, of course) but came</p><p>back in the early evening looking glum. "Tell me, W W-Watanabe,</p><p>what do you talk about with g-g-girls?" I don't remember how I</p><p>answered him, but he had picked the wrong person to ask. In July,</p><p>34</p><p>somebody in the dorm had taken down Storm Trooper's Amsterdam</p><p>canal scene and put up a photo of the Golden Gate Bridge instead. He</p><p>told me he wanted to know if Storm Trooper could masturbate to the</p><p>Golden Gate Bridge. "He loved it," I reported later, which prompted</p><p>someone else to put up a picture of an iceberg. Each time the photo</p><p>changed in his absence, Storm Trooper became upset.</p><p>"Who-who-who the hell is doing this?" he asked.</p><p>"I wonder," I said. "But what's the difference? They're all nice</p><p>pictures. You should be grateful."</p><p>"Yeah, I s'pose so, but it's weird."</p><p>My stories of Storm Trooper always made Naoko laugh. Not many</p><p>things succeeded in doing that, so I talked about him often, though I</p><p>was not exactly proud of myself for using him this way. He just</p><p>happened to be the youngest son in a not-too-wealthy family who had</p><p>grown up a little too serious for his own good. Making maps was the</p><p>one small dream of his one small life. Who had the right to make fun</p><p>of him for that?</p><p>By then, however, Storm-Trooper jokes had become an indispensable</p><p>source of dormitory talk, and there was no way for me to undo what I</p><p>had done. Besides, the sight of Naoko's smiling face had become my</p><p>own special source of pleasure. I went on supplying everyone with</p><p>new stories.</p><p>Naoko asked me one time - just once - if I had a girl I liked. I told her</p><p>about the one I had left behind in Kobe. "She was nice," I said, "I</p><p>enjoyed sleeping with her, and I miss her every now and then, but</p><p>finally, she didn't move me. I don't know, sometimes I think I've got</p><p>this hard kernel in my heart, and nothing much can get inside it. I</p><p>doubt if I can really love anybody."</p><p>"Have you ever been in love?" Naoko asked.</p><p>"Never," I said.</p><p>She didn't ask me more than that.</p><p>When autumn ended and cold winds began tearing through the city,</p><p>35</p><p>Naoko would often walk pressed against my arm. I could sense her</p><p>breathing through the thick cloth of her duffel coat. She would</p><p>entwine her arm with mine, or cram her hand in my pocket, or, when</p><p>it was really cold, cling tightly to my arm, shivering. None of this had</p><p>any special meaning. I just kept walking with my hands shoved in my</p><p>pockets. Our rubber-soled shoes made hardly any sound on the</p><p>pavement, except for the dry crackling when we trod on the broad,</p><p>withered sycamore leaves. I felt sorry for Naoko whenever I heard that</p><p>sound. My arm was not the one she needed, but the arm of someone</p><p>else. My warmth was not what she needed, but the warmth of</p><p>someone else. I felt almost guilty being me.</p><p>As the winter deepened, the transparent clarity of Naoko's eyes</p><p>seemed to increase. It was a clarity that had nowhere to go. Sometimes</p><p>Naoko would lock her eyes on to mine for no apparent reason. She</p><p>seemed to be searching for something, and this would give me a</p><p>strange, lonely, helpless sort of feeling.</p><p>I wondered if she was trying to convey something to me, something</p><p>she could not put into words - something prior to words that she could</p><p>not grasp within herself and which therefore had no hope of ever</p><p>turning into words. Instead, she would fiddle with her hairslide, dab at</p><p>the corners of her mouth with a handkerchief, or look into my eyes in</p><p>that meaningless way. I wanted to hold her tight when she did these</p><p>things, but I would hesitate and hold back. I was afraid I might hurt</p><p>her. And so the two of us kept walking the streets of Tokyo, Naoko</p><p>searching for words in space.</p><p>The guys in the dorm would always tease me when I got a call from</p><p>Naoko or went out on a Sunday morning. They assumed, naturally</p><p>enough, that I had found a girlfriend. There was no way to explain the</p><p>truth to them, and no need to explain it, so I let them think what they</p><p>wanted to. I had to face a barrage of stupid questions in the evening -</p><p>what position had we used? What was she like down there? What</p><p>colour underwear had she been wearing that day? I gave them the</p><p>36</p><p>answers they wanted.</p><p>And so I went from 18 to 19. Each day the sun would rise and set, the</p><p>flag would be raised and lowered. Every Sunday I would have a date</p><p>with my dead friend's girl. I had no idea what I was doing or what I</p><p>was going to do. For my courses I would read Claudel and Racine and</p><p>Eisenstein, but they meant almost nothing to me. I made no friends at</p><p>the lectures, and hardly knew anyone in the dorm. The others in the</p><p>dorm thought I wanted to be a writer because I was always alone with</p><p>a book, but I had no such ambition. There was nothing I wanted to be.</p><p>I tried to talk about this feeling with Naoko. She, at least, would be</p><p>able to understand what I was feeling with some degree of precision, I</p><p>thought. But I could never find the words to express myself. Strange, I</p><p>seemed to have caught her word-searching sickness.</p><p>On Saturday nights I would sit by the phone in the lobby, waiting for</p><p>Naoko to call. Most of the others were out, so the lobby was usually</p><p>deserted. I would stare at the grains of light suspended in that silent</p><p>space, struggling to see into my own heart. What did I want? And</p><p>what did others want from me? But I could never find the answers.</p><p>Sometimes I would reach out and try to grasp the grains of light, but</p><p>my fingers touched nothing.</p><p>I read a lot, but not a lot of different books: I like to read my</p><p>favourites again and again. Back then it was Truman Capote, John</p><p>Updike, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Raymond Chandler, but I didn't see</p><p>anyone else in my lectures or the dorm reading writers like that. They</p><p>liked Kazumi Takahashi, Kenzaburo Oe, Yukio Mishima, or</p><p>contemporary French novelists, which was another reason I didn't</p><p>have much to say to anybody but kept to myself and my books. With</p><p>my eyes closed, I would touch a familiar book and draw its fragrance</p><p>deep inside me. This was enough to make me happy.</p><p>At 18 my favourite book was John Updike's The Centaur, but after I</p><p>had read</p><p>it a number of times, it began to lose some of its initial lustre</p><p>37</p><p>and yielded first place to The Great Gatsby. Gatsby stayed in first</p><p>place for a long time after that. I would pull it off the shelf when the</p><p>mood hit me and read a section at random. It never once disappointed</p><p>me. There wasn't a boring page in the whole book. I wanted to tell</p><p>people what a wonderful novel it was, but no one around me had read</p><p>The Great Gatsby or was likely to. Urging others to read F Scott</p><p>Fitzgerald, although not a reactionary act, was not something one</p><p>could do in 1968.</p><p>When I did finally meet the one person in my world who had read</p><p>Gatsby, he and I became friends because of it. His name was</p><p>Nagasawa. He was two years older than me, and because he was doing</p><p>legal studies at the prestigious Tokyo University, he was on the fast</p><p>track to national leadership. We lived in the same dorm and knew</p><p>each other only by sight, until one day when I was reading Gatsby in a</p><p>sunny spot in the dining hall. He sat down next to me and asked what I</p><p>was reading. When I told him, he asked if I was enjoying it. "This is</p><p>my third time," I said, "and every time I find something new that I like</p><p>even more than the last."</p><p>"This man says he has read The Great Gatsby three times," he said as</p><p>if to himself. "Well, any friend of Gatsby is a friend of mine."</p><p>And so we became friends. This happened in October.</p><p>The better I got to know Nagasawa, the stranger he seemed. I had met</p><p>a lot of weird people in my day, but none as strange as Nagasawa. He</p><p>was a far more voracious reader than me, but he made it a rule never</p><p>to touch a book by any author who had not been dead at least 30 years.</p><p>"That's the only kind of book I can trust," he said.</p><p>"It's not that I don't believe in contemporary literature," he added, "but</p><p>I don't want to waste valuable time reading any book that has not had</p><p>the baptism of time. Life is too short."</p><p>"What kind of authors do you like?" I asked, speaking in respectful</p><p>tones to this man two years my senior.</p><p>"Balzac, Dante, Joseph Conrad, Dickens," he answered without</p><p>38</p><p>hesitation.</p><p>"Not exactly fashionable."</p><p>"That's why I read them. If you only read the books that everyone else</p><p>is reading, you can only think what everyone else is thinking. That's</p><p>the world of hicks and slobs. Real people would be ashamed of</p><p>themselves doing that. Haven't you noticed, Watanabe? You and I are</p><p>the only real ones in this dorm. The other guys are crap."</p><p>This took me off guard. "How can you say that?"</p><p>"'Cause it's true. I know. I can see it. It's like we have marks on our</p><p>foreheads. And besides, we've both read The Great Gatsby."</p><p>I did some quick calculating. "But Fitzgerald's only been dead 28</p><p>years," I said.</p><p>"So what? Two years? Fitzgerald's advanced."</p><p>No one else in the dorm knew that Nagasawa was a secret reader of</p><p>classic novels, nor would it have mattered if they had. Nagasawa was</p><p>known for being smart. He breezed into Tokyo University, he got</p><p>good marks, he would take the Civil Service Exam, join the Foreign</p><p>Ministry, and become a diplomat. He came from a wealthy family. His</p><p>father owned a big hospital in Nagoya, and his brother had also</p><p>graduated from Tokyo, gone on to medical school, and would one day</p><p>inherit the hospital. Nagasawa always had plenty of money in his</p><p>pocket, and he carried himself with real dignity. People treated him</p><p>with respect, even the dorm Head. When he asked someone to do</p><p>something, the person would do it without protest. There was no</p><p>choice in the matter.</p><p>Nagasawa had a certain inborn quality that drew people to him and</p><p>made them follow him. He knew how to stand at the head of the pack,</p><p>to assess the situation, to give precise and tactful instructions that</p><p>others would obey. Above his head hung an aura that revealed his</p><p>powers like an angel's halo, the mere sight of which would inspire awe</p><p>in people for this superior being. Which is why it shocked everyone</p><p>39</p><p>that Nagasawa chose me, a person with no distinctive qualities, to be</p><p>his special friend. People I hardly knew treated me with a certain</p><p>respect because of it, but what they did not seem to realize was that</p><p>the reason for my having been chosen was a simple one, namely that I</p><p>treated Nagasawa with none of the adulation he received from other</p><p>people. I had a definite interest in the strange, complex aspects of his</p><p>nature, but none of those other things - his good marks, his aura, his</p><p>looks - impressed me. This must have been something new for him.</p><p>There were sides to Nagasawa's personality that conflicted in the</p><p>extreme. Even I would be moved by his kindness at times, but he</p><p>could just as well be malicious and cruel. He was both a spirit of</p><p>amazing loftiness and an irredeemable man of the gutter. He could</p><p>charge forward, the optimistic leader, even as his heart writhed in a</p><p>swamp of loneliness. I saw these paradoxical qualities of his from the</p><p>start, and I could never understand why they weren't just as obvious to</p><p>everyone else. He lived in his own special hell.</p><p>Still, I think I always managed to view him in the most favourable</p><p>light. His greatest virtue was his honesty. Not only would he never lie,</p><p>he would always acknowledge his shortcomings. He never tried to</p><p>hide things that might embarrass him. And where I was concerned, he</p><p>was unfailingly kind and supportive. Had he not been, my life in the</p><p>dorm would have been far more unpleasant than it was. Still, I never</p><p>once opened my heart to him, and in that sense my relationship with</p><p>Nagasawa stood in stark contrast to me and Kizuki. The first time I</p><p>saw Nagasawa drunk and tormenting a girl, I promised myself never,</p><p>under any circumstances, to open myself up to him.</p><p>There were several "Nagasawa Legends" that circulated throughout</p><p>the dorm. According to one, he supposedly once ate three slugs.</p><p>Another gave him a huge penis and had him sleeping with more than</p><p>100 girls.</p><p>The slug story was true. He told me so himself. "Three big mothers,"</p><p>40</p><p>he said. "Swallowed 'em whole."</p><p>"What the hell for?"</p><p>"Well, it happened the first year I came to live here," he said. "There</p><p>was some shit between the first-years and the third-years. Started in</p><p>April and finally came to a head in September. As first-year</p><p>representative I went to work things out with the third-years. Real</p><p>right-wing arseholes. They had these wooden kendo swords, and</p><p>"working things out' was probably the last thing they wanted to do. So</p><p>I said, 'All right, let's put an end to this. Do what you want to me, but</p><p>leave the other guys alone.' So they said, "OK, let's see you swallow a</p><p>couple of slugs.' "Fine,' I said, "Let's have 'em.' The bastards went out</p><p>and got three huge slugs. And I swallowed 'em."</p><p>"What was it like?"</p><p>"What was it like?' You have to swallow one yourself. The way it</p><p>slides down your throat and into your stomach ... it's cold, and it</p><p>leaves this disgusting aftertaste ... yuck, I get chills just thinking about</p><p>it. I wanted to puke but I fought it.</p><p>I mean, if I had puked 'em up, I would have had to swallow</p><p>'em all over again. So I kept 'em down. All three of 'em."</p><p>"Then what happened?"</p><p>"I went back to my room and drank a bucket of salt water.</p><p>What else could I do?"</p><p>"Yeah, I guess so."</p><p>"But after that, nobody could say a thing to me. Not even</p><p>the third-years. I'm the only guy in this place who can swallow three</p><p>slugs."</p><p>"I bet you are."</p><p>Finding out about his penis size was easy enough. I just went to the</p><p>dorm's communal shower with him. He had a big one, all right. But</p><p>100 girls was probably an exaggeration. "Maybe 75," he said. "I can't</p><p>remember them all, but I'm sure it's at least 70." When I told him I had</p><p>41</p><p>slept with only one, he said, "Oh, we can fix that, easy. Come with me</p><p>next time. I'll get you one easy as that."</p><p>I didn't believe him, but he turned out to be right. It was easy. Almost</p><p>too easy, with all the excitement of flat beer. We went to some kind of</p><p>bar in Shibuya or Shinjuku (he had</p>
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