Haruki Murakami - The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle

She took a sip of coffee.

I'm scared to death, she said. I'm so scared I can hardly stand it. I feel like I did back then, like I'm being swept along toward it and I cant get away.

She took a cigarette from her handbag, put it in her mouth, and lit it with a match, exhaling in one long, slow breath. This was the first time I had ever seen her smoke.

Are you talking about your marriage? I asked. That's right, she said. My marriage. Is there some particular problem? I asked. Something concrete? She shook her head. I don't think so, she said. Not really. Just a lot of little things. I didn't know what to say to her, but the situation demanded that I say something. Everybody experiences this feeling to some extent when they're about to get married, I think. Oh, no, I'm making this terrible mistake! You'd probably be abnormal if you didn't feel it. Its a big decision, picking somebody to spend your life with. So its natural to be scared, but you don't have to be that scared. That's easy to say-Everybody feels like that. Everybody's the same, she said. Eleven o'clock had come and gone. I had to find a way to bring this conversation to a successful conclusion and get out of there. But before I could say anything, she suddenly asked me to hold her. Why? I asked, caught off guard. To charge my batteries, she said. Charge your batteries?

My body has run out of electricity. I haven't been able to sleep for days now. The minute I get to sleep I wake up, and then I cant get back to sleep. I cant think. When I get like that, somebody has to charge my batteries. Otherwise, I cant go on living. Its true.

I peered into her eyes, wondering if she was still drunk, but they were once again her usual cool, intelligent eyes. She was far from drunk.

But you're getting married next week. You can have him hold you all you want. Every night. That's what marriage is for. You'll never run out of electricity again.

The problem is now, she said. Not tomorrow, not next week, not next month. I'm out of electricity now.

Lips clamped shut, she stared at her feet. They were in perfect alignment. Small and white, they had ten pretty toenails. She really, truly wanted somebody to hold her, it seemed, and so I took her in my arms. It was all very weird. To me, she was just a capable, pleasant colleague. We worked in the same office, told each other jokes, and had gone out for drinks now and then. But here, away from work, in her apartment, with my arms around her, we were nothing but warm lumps of flesh. We had been playing our assigned roles on the office stage, but stepping down from the stage, abandoning the provisional images that we had been exchanging there, we were both just unstable, awkward lumps of flesh, warm pieces of meat outfitted with digestive tracts and hearts and brains and reproductive organs. I had my arms wrapped around her back, and she had her breasts pressed hard against my chest. They were larger and softer than I had imagined them to be. I was sitting on the floor with my back against the wall, and she was slumped against me. We stayed in that position for a long time, holding each other without a word.

Is this all right? I asked, in a voice that did not sound like my own. It was as if someone else were speaking for me.

She said nothing, but I could feel her nod.

She was wearing a sweatshirt and a thin skirt that came down to her knees, but soon I realized that she had nothing on underneath. Almost automatically, this gave me an erection, and she seemed to be aware of it. I could feel her warm breath on my neck.

In the end, I didn't sleep with her. But I did have to go on charging her batteries until two in the morning. She pleaded with me to stay with her until she was asleep. I took her to her bed and tucked her in. But she remained awake for a long time. She changed into pajamas, and I went on holding and recharging her. In my arms, I felt her cheeks grow hot and her heart pound. I couldn't be sure I was doing the right thing, but I knew of no other way to deal with the situation. The simplest thing would have been to sleep with her, but I managed to sweep that possibility from my mind. My instincts told me not to do it.

Please don't hate me for this, she said. My electricity is just so low I cant help it. Don't worry, I said. I understand. I knew I should call home, but what could I have said to Kumiko? I didn't want to lie, but I knew it would be impossible for me to explain to her what was happening. And after a while, it didn't seem to matter anymore. Whatever happened would happen. I left her apartment at two o'clock and didn't get home until three. It was tough finding a cab.

Kumiko was furious, of course. She was sitting at the kitchen table, wide awake, waiting for me. I said I had been out drinking and playing mahjongg with the guys from the office. Why couldn't I have made a simple phone call? she demanded. It had never crossed my mind, I said. She was not convinced, and the lie became apparent almost immediately. I hadn't played mahjongg in years, and I just wasn't cut out for lying in any case. I ended up confessing the truth. I told her the entire story from beginning to end-without the erection part, of course-maintaining that I had done nothing with the woman.

Kumiko refused to speak to me for three days. Literally. Not a word. She slept in the other room, and she ate her meals alone. This was the greatest crisis our marriage had faced. She was genuinely angry with me, and I understood exactly how she felt.

After her three days of silence, Kumiko asked me, What would you think if you were in my position? These were the very first words she spoke. What if I had come home at three o'clock Sunday morning without so much as a telephone call? I've been in bed with a man all this time, but don't worry, I didn't do anything, please believe me. I was just recharging his batteries. OK, great, lets have breakfast and go to sleep. You mean to say you wouldn't get angry, you'd just believe me?

I kept quiet.

And what you did was even worse than that, Kumiko continued. You lied to me! You said you were drinking and playing mahjongg. A total lie! How do you expect me to believe you didn't sleep with her?

I'm sorry I lied, I said. I should never have done that. But the only reason I lied was because the truth was so difficult to explain. I want you to believe me: I really didn't do anything wrong.

Kumiko put her head down on the table. I felt as if the air in the room were gradually thinning out.

I don't know what to say, I said. I cant explain it other than to ask you to believe me. All right. If you want me to believe you, I will, she said. But I want you to remember this: I'm probably going to do the same thing to you someday. And when that time comes, I want you to believe me. I have that right.

Kumiko had never exercised that right. Every once in a while, I imagined how I would feel if she did exercise it. I would probably believe her, but my reaction would no doubt be as complex and as difficult to deal with as Kumiko's. To think that she had made a point of doing such a thing-and for what? Which was exactly how she must have felt about me back then.

Mr. Wind-Up Bird! came a voice from the garden. It was May Kasahara.

Still toweling my hair, I went out to the veranda. She was sitting on the edge, biting a thumbnail. She wore the same dark sunglasses as when I had first met her, plus cream-colored cotton pants and a black polo shirt. In her hand was a clipboard.

I climbed it, she said, pointing to the cinder-block wall. Then she brushed away the dirt clinging to her pants. I kinda figured I had the right place. I'm glad it was yours! Think if I had come over the wall into the wrong house!

She took a pack of Hope regulars from her pocket and lit up. Anyhow, Mr. Wind-Up Bird, how are you? OK, I guess. I'm going to work now, she said. Why don't you come along? We work in teams of two, and it'd be sooo much better for me to have somebody I know. Some new guy'd ask me all kinds of questions-How old are you? Why aren't you in school? Its such a pain! Or maybe he'd turn out to be a pervert. It happens, you know! Do it for me, will you, Mr. Wind- Up Bird?