Haruki Murakami - The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle

After continuing down the corridor for some time, the faceless man came to a stop in front of a door. The number on the doorplate was 208. It isn't locked. You should be the one to open it. I did as I was told and opened the door. Beyond it lay a large room. It seemed to be part of a suite of rooms in an old-fashioned hotel. The ceiling was high, and from it hung an old-fashioned chandelier. The chandelier was not lit. A small wall lamp gave off a gloomy light, the only source of illumination in the room. The curtains were closed tight.

If its whiskey you want, Mr. Okada, said the faceless man, we have plenty. Cutty Sark, wasn't it? Drink as much as you'd like. He pointed to a cabinet beside the door, then closed the door silently, leaving me alone. I stood in the middle of the room for a long time, wondering what to do.

A large oil painting hung on the wall. It was a picture of a river. I looked at it for a while, hoping to calm myself down. The moon was up over the river. Its light fell faintly on the opposite shore, but so very faintly that I could not make out the scenery there. It was all vague outlines, running together.

Soon I felt a strong craving for whiskey. I thought I would open the cabinet and take a drink, as suggested by the faceless man, but the cabinet would not open. What looked like doors were actually well-made imitations of doors. I tried pushing and pulling on the various protruding parts, but the cabinet remained firmly shut.

Its not easy to open, Mr. Okada, said Kano. I realized she was standing there-and in her early-sixties outfit. Some time must go by before it will open. Today is out of the question. You might as well give up.

As I watched, she shed her clothes as easily as opening a pea pod and stood before me naked, without warning or explanation. We have so little time, Mr. Okada, lets finish this as quickly as possible. I am sorry for the rush, but I have my reasons. Just getting here was hard enough. Then she came up to me, opened my fly, and, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, took out my penis. Lowering her eyes, with their false lashes, she enclosed my penis with her mouth. Her mouth was far larger than I had imagined. Inside, I immediately came erect. When she moved her tongue, the curled ends of her hair trembled as in a gentle breeze, caressing my thighs. All I could see was her hair and her false eyelashes. I sat on the bed, and she went down on her knees, her face buried in my crotch. Stop it, I said. Noboru Wataya will be here any minute. I don't want to see him here.

Kano took her mouth from my penis and said, Don't worry. We have plenty of time for this, at least.

She ran the tip of her tongue over my penis. I didn't want to come, but there was no way of stopping it. I felt as if it were being sucked out of me. Her lips and tongue held on to me like slippery life forms. I came. I opened my eyes.

Terrific. I went to the bathroom, washed my soiled underpants, and took a hot shower, washing myself with care to get rid of the sticky sensations of the dream. How many years had it been since my last wet dream? I tried to recall exactly but couldn't, it had been so long.

I stepped out of the shower and was still drying myself when the phone rang. It was Kumiko. Having just had a wet dream over another woman, I felt a little tense speaking with her.

Your voice is strange, she said. Whats wrong? Her sensitivity to such things was frightening.

Nothing, I said. I was dozing. You woke me up.

Oh, really? she said. I could feel her suspicions coming through the earpiece, which made me all the more tense.

Anyway, sorry, but I'm going to be a little late today, Kumiko said. Maybe as late as nine. So I'll eat out.

That's OK, I said. I'll find something for myself. Don't worry.

I really am sorry, she said. It had the sound of an afterthought. There was a pause, and then she hung up.

I looked at the receiver for a few seconds. Then I went to the kitchen and peeled an apple.

In the six years since I had married Kumiko, I had never slept with another woman. Which is not to say that I never felt the desire for another woman or never had the chance. Just that I never pursued it when the opportunity arose. I cant explain why, exactly, but it probably has something to do with life's priorities.

I did once happen to spend the night with another woman. She was someone I liked, and I knew she would have slept with me. But finally, I didn't do it.

We had been working together at the law firm for several years. She was probably two or three years younger than I. Her job was to take calls and coordinate everyones schedules, and she was very good at it. She was quick, and she had an outstanding memory. You could ask her anything and she would know the answer: who was working where at what, which files were in which cabinet, that kind of thing. She handled all appointments. Everybody liked her and depended on her. On an individual basis, too, she and I were fairly close. We had gone drinking together several times. She was not exactly what you would call a beauty, but I liked her looks.

When it came time for her to quit her job to get married (she would have to move to Kyushu in connection with her husbands work), several colleagues and I invited her out for a last drink together. Afterward, she and I had to take the same train home, and because it was late, I saw her to her apartment. At the front door, she invited me in for a cup of coffee. I was worried about missing the last train, but I knew we might never see each other again, and I also liked the idea of sobering up with coffee, so I decided to go in. The place was a typical single girls apartment. It had a refrigerator that was just a little too grand for one person, and a bookshelf stereo. A friend had given her the refrigerator. She changed into something comfortable in the next room and made coffee in the kitchen. We sat on the floor, talking.

At one point when we had run out of things to say, she asked me, as if it had suddenly occurred to her, Can you name something-some concrete thing-that you're especially afraid of?

Not really, I said, after a moments thought. I was afraid of all kinds of things, but no one thing in particular. How about you?

I'm scared of culverts, she said, hugging her knees. You know what a culvert is, don't you?

Some kind of ditch, isn't it? I didn't have a very precise definition of the word in mind.

Yeah, but its underground. An underground waterway. A drainage ditch with a lid on. A pitch-dark flow.

I see, I said. A culvert.

I was born and raised in the country. In Fukushima. There was a stream right near my house-a little stream, just the runoff from the fields. It flowed underground at one point into a culvert. I guess I was playing with some of the older kids when it happened. I was just two or three. The others put me in a little boat and launched it into the stream. It was probably something they did all the time, but that day it had been raining, and the water was high. The boat got away from them and carried me straight for the opening of the culvert. I would have been sucked right in if one of the local farmers hadn't happened by. I'm sure they never would have found me.

She ran her left index finger over her mouth as if to check that she was still alive.

I can still picture everything that happened. I'm lying on my back and being swept along by the water. The sides of the stream tower over me like high stone walls, and overhead is the blue sky. Sharp, clear blue. I'm being swept along in the flow. Swish, swish, faster and faster. But I cant understand what it means. And then all of a sudden I do understand- that theres darkness lying ahead. Real darkness. Soon it comes and tries to drink me down. I can feel a cold shadow beginning to wrap itself around me. That's my earliest memory.