Norwegian Wood Part 20

"Hmm, Ueno Station." Midori thought about it for a while. "The only thing I can think of is the two times I ran away. In the third grade and in the fifth grade. Both times I took a train from Ueno to f.u.kushima. Bought the tickets with money I took from the cash register. Somebody at home made me really mad, and I did it to get even. I had an aunt in f.u.kushima, I kind of liked her, so I went to her house. My father was the one who brought me home. Came all the way to f.u.kushima to get me-a hundred miles! We ate boxed lunches on the train to Ueno. My father told me all kinds of stuff while we were riding, just little bits and pieces with long s.p.a.ces in between. Like about the big earthquake of nineteen twenty-three or about the war or about the time I was born, stuff he didn't usually talk about. Come to think of it, those were the only times my father and I had something like a good, long talk, just the two of us. Say, can you believe this?-my father was smack dab in the middle of Tokyo during one of the biggest earthquakes in history and he didn't even notice it!" the fifth grade. Both times I took a train from Ueno to f.u.kushima. Bought the tickets with money I took from the cash register. Somebody at home made me really mad, and I did it to get even. I had an aunt in f.u.kushima, I kind of liked her, so I went to her house. My father was the one who brought me home. Came all the way to f.u.kushima to get me-a hundred miles! We ate boxed lunches on the train to Ueno. My father told me all kinds of stuff while we were riding, just little bits and pieces with long s.p.a.ces in between. Like about the big earthquake of nineteen twenty-three or about the war or about the time I was born, stuff he didn't usually talk about. Come to think of it, those were the only times my father and I had something like a good, long talk, just the two of us. Say, can you believe this?-my father was smack dab in the middle of Tokyo during one of the biggest earthquakes in history and he didn't even notice it!"

"No way!"

"It's true! He was riding through Koishikawa with a cart attached to his bike, and he didn't feel a thing. When he got home, all the tiles had fallen off the roofs in the neighborhood, and everybody in the family was hugging pillars and quaking in their boots. He still didn't get it and, the way he tells it, he asked, 'What the h.e.l.l's going on here?' That's my father's 'fond recollection' of the Great Kanto Earthquake!" Midori laughed. "All his stories of the old days are like that. No drama whatsoever. They're all just a little bit off center. I don't know, when he tells those stories, you kinda get the feeling like nothing important has happened in j.a.pan for the past fifty or sixty years. The young officers' uprising of nineteen thirty-six, the Pacific War, they're all kinda 'Oh yeah, now that you mention it, I guess something like that once happened' kinda things. It's so funny!

"So, anyway, on the train, he'd tell me these stories in bits and pieces while we were riding from f.u.kushima to Ueno. And at the end, he'd always say, 'So that goes to show you, Midori, it's the same wherever you go.' I was young enough to be impressed by stuff like that."

"So is that your your 'fond recollection' of Ueno Station?" I asked. 'fond recollection' of Ueno Station?" I asked.

"It sure is," said Midori. "Did you ever run away from home, Watanabe?"

"Never did."

"Why not?"

"Lack of imagination. It never occurred to me to run away."

"You are so weird!" so weird!" Midori said, c.o.c.king her head as though truly impressed. Midori said, c.o.c.king her head as though truly impressed.

"I wonder," I said.

"Well, anyhow, I think my father was trying to say he wanted you to look after me."

"Really?"

"Really! I understand things like that. Intuitively. So tell me, what was your answer to him?"

"Well, I didn't understand what he was saying, so I just said O.K., don't worry. I'd take care of both you and the ticket."

"You promised my father that? You said you'd take care of me?" She looked me straight in the eye with a dead-serious expression on her face.

"Not like that," that," I hastened to correct her. "I really didn't know I hastened to correct her. "I really didn't know what what he was saying, and-" he was saying, and-"

"Don't worry. I'm just kidding," she said with a smile. "I love that about you."

Midori and I finished our coffee and went back to the room. Her father was still sound asleep. If you leaned close you could hear his steady breathing. As the afternoon deepened, the light outside the hospital window changed to the soft, gentle color of autumn. A flock of birds perched on the electric wire outside, then flew on. Midori and I sat in a corner of the room, talking quietly the whole time. She read my palm and predicted that I would live to a hundred and five, marry three times, and die in a traffic accident. Not a bad life, I said.

When her father woke just after four o'clock, Midori went to sit by his pillow, wiped the sweat from his brow, gave him water, and asked him about the pain in his head. A nurse came and took his temperature, recorded the number of his urinations, and checked the intravenous equipment. I went to the TV room and watched a little soccer.

At five I told Midori I would be leaving. To her father I explained, "I have to go to work now. I sell records in Shinjuku from six to ten-thirty."

He turned his eyes to me and gave a little nod.

"Hey, Watanabe, I don't know how to put this, but I really really want to thank you for today," Midori said to me when she saw me to the front lobby. want to thank you for today," Midori said to me when she saw me to the front lobby.

"I didn't do that much," I said. "But if I can be of any help, I'll come next week, too. I'd like to see your father again."

"Really?"

"Well, there's not that much for me to do in the dorm, and if I come here I get to eat cuc.u.mbers."

Midori folded her arms and tapped the linoleum with the heel of her shoe.

"I'd like to go drinking with you again," she said, c.o.c.king her head slightly.

"How about the p.o.r.no flicks?"

"We'll do that first and then then go drinking. And we'll talk about all the usual disgusting things." go drinking. And we'll talk about all the usual disgusting things."

"I'm not the one who talks about disgusting things," I protested. "It's not the one who talks about disgusting things," I protested. "It's you." you."

"Anyhow, we'll talk about things like that and get plastered and go to bed."

"And you know what happens next," I said with a sigh. "I try to do it, and you don't let me. Right?"

She laughed through her nose.

"Anyhow," I said, "pick me up again next Sunday morning. We'll come here together."

"With me in a little longer skirt?"

"Definitely," I said.

I DIDN'T GO TO THE HOSPITAL DIDN'T GO TO THE HOSPITAL that next Sunday, though. Midori's father died on Friday morning. that next Sunday, though. Midori's father died on Friday morning.

She called at six-thirty in the morning to tell me that. The buzzer letting me know I had a phone call went off, and I ran down to the lobby with a cardigan thrown over my pajamas. A cold rain was falling silently. "My father died a few minutes ago," Midori said in a small, quiet voice. I asked her if there was anything I could do.

"Thanks," she said. "There's really nothing. We're used to funerals. I just wanted to let you know."

A kind of sigh escaped her lips.

"Don't come to the funeral, O.K.? I hate stuff like that. I don't want to see you there."

"I get it," I said.

"Will you really take me to a p.o.r.no movie?"

"Of course I will."

"A really disgusting one."

"I'll research the matter thoroughly."

"Good. I'll call you," Midori said, and hung up.

--- A WEEK WENT BY WEEK WENT BY, though, without a word from Midori. No calls, no sign of her in the cla.s.sroom. I kept hoping for a message from her whenever I went back to the dorm, but there were never any. One night, I tried to keep my promise by thinking of her when I m.a.s.t.u.r.b.a.t.ed, but it didn't work. I tried switching over to Naoko, but not even Naoko's image was any help that time. It seemed so ridiculous, I gave up. Instead, I took a swig of whiskey, brushed my teeth, and went to bed.

I WROTE A LETTER WROTE A LETTER to Naoko on Sunday morning. One thing I told her about was Midori's father. "I went to the hospital to visit the father of a girl in one of my cla.s.ses and ate some cuc.u.mbers in his room. When he heard me crunching on them, he wanted some, too, and he ate his with the same crunching sound. Five days later, though, he died. I still have a vivid memory of the tiny crunching he made when he chewed his pieces of cuc.u.mber. People leave strange little memories of themselves behind when they die." My letter went on: to Naoko on Sunday morning. One thing I told her about was Midori's father. "I went to the hospital to visit the father of a girl in one of my cla.s.ses and ate some cuc.u.mbers in his room. When he heard me crunching on them, he wanted some, too, and he ate his with the same crunching sound. Five days later, though, he died. I still have a vivid memory of the tiny crunching he made when he chewed his pieces of cuc.u.mber. People leave strange little memories of themselves behind when they die." My letter went on: I think of you and Reiko and the birdhouse while I lie in bed after waking up in the morning. I think about the peac.o.c.k and pigeons and parrots and turkeys-and about the rabbits. I remember the yellow rain capes that you and Reiko wore with the hoods up that rainy morning. It feels good to think about you when I'm warm in bed. I feel as if you're curled up there beside me, fast asleep. And I think how great it would be if it were true.

I miss you something awful sometimes, but in general I go on living with all the energy I can muster. Just as you take care of the birds and the fields every morning, every morning I wind my own spring. I give it some thirty-six good twists by the time I've gotten up, brushed my teeth, shaved, eaten breakfast, changed my clothes, left the dorm, and arrived at the university. I tell myself, "O.K., let's make this day another good one." I hadn't noticed before, but they tell me I talk to myself a lot these days. Probably mumbling to myself while I wind my spring.

It's hard not being able to see you, but my life in Tokyo would be a lot worse if it weren't for you. It's because I think of you when I'm in bed in the morning that I can wind my spring and tell myself I have to live another good day. I know I have to give it my best here just as you are doing there.

Today's Sunday, though, a day I don't wind my spring. I've done my laundry, and now I'm in my room, writing to you. Once I've finished this letter and put a stamp on it and dropped it into the mailbox, there's nothing for me to do until the sun goes down. I don't study on Sundays, either. I do a good enough job studying between cla.s.ses in the library on weekdays, so that I don't have anything left to do on Sundays. Sunday afternoons are quiet, peaceful, and, for me, lonely. I read books or listen to music. Sometimes I think back on the different routes we used to take in our Sunday walks around Tokyo. I can come up with a pretty clear picture of the clothes you were wearing on any particular walk. I remember all kinds of things on Sunday afternoons.

Say hi from me to Reiko. I really miss her guitar at night.

When I had finished the letter, I walked a couple of blocks to a mailbox, then went to a nearby bakery where I bought an egg sandwich and a c.o.ke. These I had for lunch while I watched a Little League game from a bench in a local playground. The deepening of autumn had brought an increased blueness and depth to the sky. I glanced up to find two vapor trails heading off to the west in perfect parallel like streetcar tracks. A foul ball came rolling my way, and when I threw it back to them the young players doffed their caps with a polite "Thank you, sir." As in most Little League games, there were lots of walks and stolen bases.

After noon I went back to my room to read but couldn't concentrate on my book. Instead I found myself staring at the ceiling and thinking about Midori. I wondered if her father had really been trying to ask me to look after her when he was gone, but I had no way of telling what had been on his mind. He had probably confused me with somebody else. In any case, he had died on a Friday morning when a cold rain was falling, and now it was impossible to know the truth. I imagined that, in death, he had shriveled up smaller than ever. And then they had burned him in an oven until he was nothing but ashes. And what had he left behind? A nothing-much bookstore in a nothing-much neighborhood and two daughters, at least one of whom was more than a little strange. What kind of life was that? I wondered. Lying in that hospital bed with his cut-open head and his muddled brain, what had been on his mind as he looked at me?

Thinking thoughts like this about Midori's father put me in such a miserable mood that I had to bring the laundry down from the roof before it was really dry and head off to Shinjuku to kill time walking the streets. The Sunday crowds gave me some relief. The Kinokuniya bookstore was as jam-packed as a rush-hour train. I bought a copy of Faulkner's was really dry and head off to Shinjuku to kill time walking the streets. The Sunday crowds gave me some relief. The Kinokuniya bookstore was as jam-packed as a rush-hour train. I bought a copy of Faulkner's Light in August Light in August and went to the noisiest jazz cafe I could think of, reading my new book while listening to Ornette Coleman and Bud Powell and drinking hot, thick, foul-tasting coffee. At five-thirty I closed my book, went outside, and ate a light supper. How many Sundays-how many hundreds of Sundays like this-lay ahead of me? "Quiet, peaceful, and lonely," I said aloud to myself. On Sundays, I didn't wind my spring. and went to the noisiest jazz cafe I could think of, reading my new book while listening to Ornette Coleman and Bud Powell and drinking hot, thick, foul-tasting coffee. At five-thirty I closed my book, went outside, and ate a light supper. How many Sundays-how many hundreds of Sundays like this-lay ahead of me? "Quiet, peaceful, and lonely," I said aloud to myself. On Sundays, I didn't wind my spring.

HALFWAY THROUGH THAT WEEK I I MANAGED TO CUT MY PALM OPEN MANAGED TO CUT MY PALM OPEN on a piece of broken gla.s.s. I hadn't noticed that one of the gla.s.s part.i.tions in a record shelf was cracked. I could hardly believe how much blood gushed out of me, turning the floor at my feet bright red. The store manager found a bunch of towels and tied them tightly over the wound. Then he made a telephone call to locate an all-night emergency room. He was a pretty useless guy most of the time, but this he did with great dispatch. The hospital was nearby, fortunately, but by the time I got there the towels were soaked in red, and the blood they couldn't soak up had been dripping on the asphalt. People scurried out of the way for me. They seemed to think I had been injured in a fight. I felt no pain to speak of, but the blood wouldn't stop. on a piece of broken gla.s.s. I hadn't noticed that one of the gla.s.s part.i.tions in a record shelf was cracked. I could hardly believe how much blood gushed out of me, turning the floor at my feet bright red. The store manager found a bunch of towels and tied them tightly over the wound. Then he made a telephone call to locate an all-night emergency room. He was a pretty useless guy most of the time, but this he did with great dispatch. The hospital was nearby, fortunately, but by the time I got there the towels were soaked in red, and the blood they couldn't soak up had been dripping on the asphalt. People scurried out of the way for me. They seemed to think I had been injured in a fight. I felt no pain to speak of, but the blood wouldn't stop.

The doctor was cool as he removed the blood-soaked towels, stopped the bleeding with a tourniquet on my wrist, disinfected the wound and sewed it up, telling me to come again the next day. Back at the record shop, the manager told me to go home: he would put me down as having worked. I took a bus to the dorm and went straight to Nagasawa's room. With my nerves on edge over the cut, I wanted to talk to somebody, and I felt I hadn't seen Nagasawa for a long time.

I found him in his room, drinking a can of beer and watching a Spanish lesson on TV. "What the h.e.l.l happened to you?" he asked when he saw my bandage. I said I had cut myself but that it was nothing much. He asked if I wanted a beer, and I said no thanks.

"Just wait. This'll be over in a minute," said Nagasawa, and he went on practicing his Spanish p.r.o.nunciation. I boiled some water and made myself a cup of tea with a tea bag. A Spanish woman recited example sentences: "I have never seen such terrible rain! Many bridges were washed away in Barcelona." Nagasawa read the text aloud in Spanish. "What awful sentences!" he said. "This kind of s.h.i.t is all they ever give you." "I have never seen such terrible rain! Many bridges were washed away in Barcelona." Nagasawa read the text aloud in Spanish. "What awful sentences!" he said. "This kind of s.h.i.t is all they ever give you."

When the program ended, Nagasawa turned off the TV and took another beer from his small refrigerator.

"Are you sure I'm not in the way?" I asked.

"h.e.l.l, no. I was bored out of my mind. Sure you don't want a beer?"

"No, I really don't," I said.

"Oh, yeah, they posted the exam results the other day. I pa.s.sed!"

"The Foreign Ministry exam?"

"That's it. Officially, it's called the 'Foreign Affairs Public Service Personnel First Cla.s.s Service Examination.' What a joke!"

"Congratulations!" I said, and gave him my left hand to shake.

"Thanks."

"Of course, I'm not surprised you pa.s.sed."

"No, neither am I." Nagasawa laughed. "But it's nice to have it official."

"Think you'll go to a foreign country once you get in?"

"Nah, first they give you a year of training. Then they send you overseas for a while."

I sipped my tea, and he drank his beer with obvious enjoyment.

"I'll give you this refrigerator when I get out of here," said Nagasawa. "You'd like to have it, wouldn't you? It's great for beer."

"Sure, I'd like to have it, but won't you need it? You'll be living in an apartment or something."

"Don't be stupid! When I get out of this place, I'm buying myself a big refrigerator. I'm gonna live the high life! Four years in a s.h.i.t hole like this is long enough. I don't want to have to look look at anything I used in this place. You name it, I'll give it to you-the TV, the Thermos bottle, the radio ..." at anything I used in this place. You name it, I'll give it to you-the TV, the Thermos bottle, the radio ..."

"I'll take anything you want to give me," I said. I picked up the Spanish textbook on his desk and stared at it. "You're starting Spanish?"

"Yeah. The more languages you know the better. And I've got a knack for them. I taught myself French and it's practically perfect. Languages are like games. You learn the rules for one, and they all work the same way. Like women."

"Ah, the reflective life!" I said with a sarcastic edge.

"Anyhow, let's go out to eat sometime soon."

"You mean cruising for women?"

"No, a real dinner. You, me, and Hatsumi at a good restaurant. To celebrate my new job. My old man's paying, so we'll go someplace really expensive."

"Shouldn't it just be you and Hatsumi?"

"No, it'd be better with you there. I'd be more comfortable, and so would Hatsumi."

Oh no, it was Kizuki, Naoko, and me all over again.

"I'll spend the night at Hatsumi's afterward, so join us just for the meal."

"O.K., if you both really want me to," I said. "But, anyhow, what are you planning to do about Hatsumi? When you're through with your training, you'll be a.s.signed overseas, and you probably won't come back for years. What's going to happen to her?"

"That's her problem, not mine."

"I don't get it," I said.

Feet on his desk, Nagasawa took a swig of beer and yawned.

"Look, I'm not planning to get married. I've made that perfectly clear to Hatsumi. If she wants to marry somebody, she should go ahead and do it. I won't stop her. If she wants to wait for me, let her wait. That's what I mean."

"I've gotta hand it to you," I said.

"You think I'm a s.h.i.t, don't you?"

"I do."

"Look, the world is an inherently unfair place. I didn't write the rules. It's always been that way. I have never once deceived Hatsumi. She knows I'm a s.h.i.t and that she can leave me anytime she decides she can't take it. I told her that straight out."

Nagasawa finished his beer and lit a cigarette.