Haruki Murakami - The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle

Unfortunately, it is, I said. My wifes brother. Meaning the brother of the wife who is no longer with you? That's right. I wonder if he's caught wind of what you're doing here?

He knows I come here every day and that I'm doing something. He had somebody investigate for him. I think he was worried about what I might be doing. But I don't think he's figured out anything else yet.

Nutmeg thought about my answer for a while. Then she raised her face to mine and asked, You don't like this brother-in-law of yours very much, do you?

Not very much, no. And he doesn't like you. To put it mildly. And now he's worried about what you're doing here. Why is that? If it comes out that his brother-in-law is involved with something suspicious, it could turn into a scandal for him. Hes the man of the moment, after all. I suppose its natural that he would worry about such things.

So he couldn't be the one leaking information about this place to the mass media, then, could he?

To be quite honest, I don't know what Noboru Wataya has in mind. But common sense tells me he'd have nothing to gain by leaking things to the press. He'd be more likely to want to keep things under wraps.

For a long time, Nutmeg went on turning the slim gold lighter in her fingers. It looked like a gold windmill on a day with little wind.

Why haven't you said anything to us about this brother-in-law of yours? Nutmeg asked.

It isn't just you. I try not to mention him to anybody, I said. We haven't liked each other from the beginning, and now we practically hate each other. I wasn't hiding him from you. I just didn't think there was any need to bring up the subject.

Nutmeg released a somewhat longer sigh. You should have told us. Maybe I should have, I said. I'm sure you can imagine whats involved here. We have clients coming to us from politics and business. Powerful people. And famous people. Their privacy has to be protected. That's why we've taken such extreme precautions. You know that much. I nodded.

Cinnamon has gone to a lot of time and trouble to put together the precise and complicated system we have for maintaining our secrecy- a labyrinth of dummy companies, books under layers of camouflage, a totally anonymous parking space in that hotel in Akasaka, stringent management of the clientele, control of income and expenses, design of this house: his mind gave birth to all of this. Until now, the system has worked almost perfectly in accordance with his calculations. Of course, it takes a lot of money to support such a system, but money is no problem for us. The important thing is that the women who come to us can feel secure that they will be protected absolutely.

What you're saying is that that security is being undermined. Yes, unfortunately. Nutmeg picked up a box of cigarettes and took one out, but she just held it for a long time between her fingers without lighting it. And to make matters worse, I have this fairly famous politician for a brother-in-law, which only increases the possibility of scandal. Exactly, said Nutmeg, curling her lip slightly. So what is Cinnamon's analysis of the situation?

Hes not saying anything. Like a big oyster on the bottom of the sea. He has burrowed inside himself and locked the door, and he's doing some serious thinking.

Nutmeg's eyes were fixed on mine. At last, as though recalling that it was there in her hand, she lit her cigarette. Then she said, I Still think about it a lot-about my husband and the way he was killed. Why did they have to murder him? Why did they have to smear the hotel room with blood and tear out his insides and take them away? I just cant think of any reason for doing such a thing. My husband was not the kind of person who had to be killed in such an unusual way.

But my husbands death is not the only thing. All these inexplicable events that have occurred in my life so far- the intense passion that welled up inside me for fashion design and the way it suddenly disappeared; the way Cinnamon stopped speaking; the way I became swept up in this strange work we do- its as though they were all ingeniously programmed from the start for the very purpose of bringing me here, where I am today. Its a thought I cant seem to shake off. I feel as if my every move is being controlled by some kind of incredibly long arm thats reaching out from somewhere far away, and that my life has been nothing more than a convenient passageway for all these things moving through it.

The faint sounds of Cinnamon's vacuuming came from the next room. He was performing his tasks in his usual concentrated, systematic manner. Haven't you ever felt that way?

Nutmeg asked me.

I don't feel that I've been swept up in anything, I said. I'm here now because it was necessary for me to be here.

So you could blow the magic flute and find Kumiko?

That's right.

You have something you're searching for, she said, slowly recrossing her green- stockinged legs. And everything has its price.

I remained silent.

Then, at last, Nutmeg announced her conclusion: We've decided not to bring any clients here for a while. It was Cinnamon's decision. Because of the magazine articles and your brother-in-laws entry on the scene, the signal has changed from yellow to red. Yesterday we canceled all remaining appointments, beginning with todays.

How long will a while be?

Until Cinnamon can patch the holes in the system and we can be sure that any crisis has been completely bypassed. Sorry, but we don't want to take any chances-none at all.

Cinnamon will come here every day, as he always has, but there will be no more clients.

By the time Cinnamon and Nutmeg left, the morning rain had cleared. Half a dozen sparrows were washing their feathers in a puddle in the driveway. When Cinnamon's Mercedes disappeared and the automatic gate closed, I sat at the window, looking at the cloudy winter sky beyond the tree branches. Nutmeg's words came to mind: some kind of in- credibly long arm thats reaching out from somewhere far away. I imagined the arm reaching down from the dark, low-hanging clouds- like an illustration from a sinister picture book.

I spent the rest of the day reading about Manchukuo. There was no need for me to hurry back to the house. Thinking I might be late, I had given Mackerel two days worth of dried cat food when I left in the morning. He might not like it much, but at least he wouldn't starve.

This made the thought of dragging myself home that much less appealing. I wanted to lie down and take a nap. I took a blanket and pillow from a cabinet, spread them on the sofa in the fitting room, and turned out the light. Then I lay down, closed my eyes, and began thinking about Mackerel. I wanted to fall asleep thinking about the cat. He was something that had come back to me. He had managed to come back to me from somewhere far away. That had to be a kind of blessing. As I lay there with my eyes closed, I thought about the soft touch of the pads beneath the cats paws, the cold triangular ears, the pink tongue. In my mind, Mackerel had curled up and was sleeping quietly. I felt his warmth with the palm of my hand.

I could hear his regular breathing. I was far more on edge than usual, but sleep still came to me before too long, a deep sleep without dreams.

I awoke in the middle of the night. I thought I had heard sleigh bells somewhere far away, as in the background of Christmas music.

Sleigh bells?

I sat up on the sofa and felt for my watch on the coffee table. The luminous hands showed one-thirty. I must have slept more soundly than I had expected to. I sat still and listened hard, but the only sound I could hear was the faint, dry thumping of my own heart. Maybe I had imagined the sleigh bells. Maybe I had been dreaming, after all. I decided, still, to check the house. I stepped into my slippers and padded my way into the kitchen. The sound grew more distinct when I left the room. It really did sound like sleigh bells, and it seemed to be coming from Cinnamon's office. I stood by the door for a while, listening, then gave a knock. Cinnamon might have come back to the Residence while I was sleeping. But there was no answer. I opened the door a crack and looked inside.