Haruki Murakami - The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle

So finally, I stayed in this high-class hotel/jail/country school for only one semester. When I got home for spring vacation, I announced to my parents that if I had to go back there, I was going to kill myself. Id stuff three tampons down my throat and drink tons of water; Id slash my wrists; Id dive headfirst off the school roof. And I meant what I said. I wasn't kidding. Both my parents put together have the imagination of a tree frog, but they knew- from experience- that when I got going like that, it wasn't an empty threat.

So anyhow, I never went back to the place. From March into April, I shut myself up in the house, reading, watching TV, and just plain vegging out. And a hundred times a day, Id think, I want to see Mr. Wind-Up Bird. I wanted to slip down the alley, jump the fence, and have a nice long talk with you. But it wasn't that easy. It would've been a replay of the summer. So I just watched the alley from my room and wondered to myself, Whats Mr. Wind- Up Bird up to now? Spring is slowly, quietly taking over the whole world, and Mr. Wind-Up Bird is in it too, but whats happening in his life? Has Kumiko come home to him? Whats going on with those strange women Malta Kano and Creta Kano? Has Noboru Wataya the cat come back? Has the mark disappeared from Mr. Wind-Up Birds cheek ... ?

After a month of living like that, I couldn't take it anymore. I don't know how or when it happened, but for me that neighborhood is nothing now but Mr. Wind-Up Birds world, and when I'm in it, I'm nothing but the me contained in Mr. Wind-Up Birds world. And its not just a sort-of-kind-of thing. Its not your fault, of course, but still... So I had to find my own place.

I thought about it and thought and thought, and finally it hit me where I had to go.

(Hint) Its a place you can figure out if you think about it really, really hard. You'll be able to imagine where I am if you make the effort. Its not a school, its not a hotel, its not a hospital, its not a jail, its not a house. Its a kind of special place way far away. Its... a secret. For now, at least.

I'm in the mountains again, in another place surrounded by a wall (but not such a huge wall), and theres a gate and a nice old man who guards the gate, but you can go in and out anytime you like. Its a huge piece of land, with its own little woods and a pond, and if you go for a walk when the sun comes up you see lots of animals: lions and zebras and-no, I'm kidding, but you can see cute little animals like badgers and pheasants. Theres a dormitory, and thats where I live.

I'm writing this letter in a tiny room at a tiny desk near a tiny bed next to a tiny bookcase beside a tiny closet, none of which have the slightest decorative touch, and all of which are designed to meet the minimum functional requirements. On the desk is a fluorescent lamp, a teacup, the stationery for writing this letter, and a dictionary. To be honest, I almost never use the dictionary. I just don't like dictionaries. I don't like the way they look, and I don't like what they say inside. Whenever I use a dictionary, I make a face and think, Who needs to know that? People like me don't get along well with dictionaries. Say I look up transition and it says: passage from one state to another. I think, So what? Its got nothing to do with me. So when I see a dictionary on my desk I feel like I'm looking at some strange dog leaving a twisty piece of poop on our lawn out back. But anyway, I bought a dictionary because I figured I might have to look something up while I was writing to you, Mr. Wind-Up Bird.

Also I've got a dozen pencils, all sharpened and laid out in a row. They're brand-new. I just bought them at the stationery store-especially for writing to you (not that I'm trying to make you feel grateful or anything: just-sharpened, brand-new pencils are really nice, don't you think?). Also I've got an ashtray and cigarettes and matches. I don't smoke as much as I used to, just once in a while for a mood change (like right now, for instance). So thats everything on my desk. The desk faces a window, and the window has curtains. The curtains have a sweet little flower design-not that I picked them out or anything: they came with the window. That flower design is the only thing here that doesn't look absolutely plain and simple. This is a perfect room for a teenage girl-or maybe not. No, its more like a model jail cell designed with good intentions for first offenders. My boom box is on the shelf (the big one-remember, Mr. Wind-Up Bird?), and I've got Bruce Springsteen on now. Its Sunday afternoon and everybody's out having fun, so theres nobody to complain if I turn it up loud.

The only thing I do for fun these days is go to the nearby town on weekends and buy the cassette tapes I want at a record store. (I almost never buy books. If theres something I want to read, I can get it at our little library.) I'm pretty friendly with the girl next door. She bought a used car, so when I want to go to town, I go with her. And guess what? I've been learning to drive it. Theres so much open space here, I can practice all I want. I don't have a license yet, but I'm a pretty good driver.

To tell you the truth, though, aside from buying music tapes, going to town is not all that much fun. Everybody says they have to get out once a week or they'll go nuts, but I get my relief by staying here when everybody's gone and listening to my favorite music like this. I once went on a kind of double date with my friend with the car. Just to give it a try. Shes from around here, so she knows a lot of people. My date was a nice enough guy, a college student, but I don't know, I still cant really get a clear sense of all kinds of things. Its as if they're out there, far away, lined up like dolls in a shooting gallery, and all these transparent curtains are hanging down between me and the dolls.

To tell you the truth, when I was seeing you that summer, Mr. Wind-Up Bird, like, when we were sitting at the kitchen table talking and drinking beer and things, I would think, What would I do if Mr. Wind-Up Bird all of a sudden pushed me down and tried to rape me? I didn't know what I would do. Of course, I would have resisted and said, No, Mr. Wind-Up Bird, you shouldn't do this! But I also would have been thinking I had to explain why it was wrong and why you shouldn't be doing it, and the more I thought, the more mixed up I would get, and by that time you probably would have finished raping me. My heart would pound like crazy when I thought about this, and I would think the whole thing was kind of unfair. I'll bet you never had any idea I had thoughts like this going on in my head. Do you think this is stupid? You probably do. I mean, it is stupid. But at the time, I was absolutely, tremendously serious about these things. Which, I think, is why I pulled the rope ladder out of the well and put the cover on with you down inside there that time, kind of like sealing you off. That way, there would be no more Mr. Wind-Up Bird around, and I wouldn't have to be bothered by those thoughts for a while.

I'm sorry, though. I know I should never have done that to you (or to anybody). But I cant help myself sometimes. I know exactly what I'm doing, but I just cant stop. That's my greatest weakness.

I don't believe that you would ever rape me, Mr. Wind-Up Bird. I know that now, somehow. Its not that you would never, ever do it (I mean, nobody knows for sure whats going to happen), but maybe that you would at least not do it to confuse me. I don't know how to put it exactly, but I just sort of feel that way.

All right, enough of this rape stuff.

Anyhow, even though I might go out on a date with a boy, emotionally I just wouldn't be able to concentrate. Id be smiling and chatting away, and my mind would be floating around somewhere else, like a balloon with a broken string. Id be thinking about one unrelated thing after another. I don't know, I guess finally I want to be alone a little while longer. And I want to let my thoughts wander freely. In that sense, I guess, I'm probably still on the road to recovery.