Haruki Murakami - The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle

The elder brother of Kumiko's father had spent four or five terms in the Lower House, representing that electoral district in Niigata. While not exactly a heavyweight, he had compiled a fairly impressive record, rising at one point to a minor cabinet post. Now, however, advanced age and heart disease would make it impossible for him to enter the next election, which meant that someone would have to succeed to his constituency. This uncle had two sons, but the elder had never intended to go into politics, and so the younger was the obvious choice.

Now the people in the district are dying to have my brother run. They want somebody young and smart and energetic. Somebody who can serve for several terms, with the talent to become a major power in the central government. My brother has the name recognition, hell attract the young vote: he's perfect. True, he cant schmooze with the locals, but the support organization is strong, and they'll take care of that. Plus, if he wants to go on living in Tokyo, thats no problem. All he has to do is show up for the election.

I had trouble picturing Noboru Wataya as a Diet member. What do you think of all this? I asked.

Hes got nothing to do with me. He can become a Diet member or an astronaut, for all I care.

But why did he make a point of coming to you for advice? Don't be ridiculous, she said, with a dry voice. He wasn't asking my advice. You know he'd never do that. He was just keeping me informed. As a member of the family. I see, I said. Still, if he's going to run for the Diet, wont it be a problem that he's divorced and single? I wonder, said Kumiko. I don't know anything about politics or elections or anything.

They just don't interest me. But anyway, I'm pretty sure hell never get married again. To anybody. He should never have gotten married in the first place. That's not what he wants out of life. Hes after something else, something completely different from what you or I want. I know that for sure.

Oh, really?

Kumiko wrapped two used cotton swabs in a tissue and threw them in the wastebasket. Then she raised her face and looked straight at me. I once saw him masturbating. I opened a door, and there he was.

So what? Everybody masturbates, I said.

No, you don't understand, she said. Then she sighed. It happened maybe two years after my sister died. He was probably in college, and I was something like a third grader. My mother had wavered between getting rid of my sisters things and putting them away, and in the end she decided to keep them, thinking I might wear them when I got older. She had put them in a carton in a closet. My brother had taken them out and was smelling them and doing it. I kept silent.

I was just a little girl then. I didn't know anything about sex. I really didn't know what he was doing, but I could tell that it was something twisted, something I wasn't supposed to see, something much deeper than,it appeared on the surface. Kumiko shook her head.

Does Noboru Wataya know you saw him?

Of course. We looked right into each others eyes. I nodded.

And how about your sisters clothes? I asked. Did you wear them when you got bigger? No way, she said.

So you think he was in love with your sister? I wonder, said Kumiko. I'm not even sure he had a sexual interest in her, but he certainly had something, and I suspect he's never been able to get away from that something. That's what I mean when I say he should never have gotten married in the first place.

Kumiko fell silent. For a long time, neither of us said anything. Then she spoke first. In that sense, I think he may have some serious psychological problems. Of course, we all have psychological problems to some extent, but his are a lot worse than whatever you or I might have. They're a lot deeper and more persistent. And he has no intention of letting these scars or weaknesses or whatever they are be seen by anybody else. Ever. Do you understand what I'm saying? This election coming up: it worries me.

Worries you? Hows that?

I don't know. It just does, she said. Anyhow, I'm tired. I cant think anymore today.

Lets go to bed.

Brushing my teeth in the bathroom, I studied my face in the mirror. For over two months now, since quitting my job, I had rarely entered the outside world. I had been moving back and forth between the neighborhood shops, the ward pool, and this house. Aside from the Ginza and that hotel in Shinagawa, the farthest point I had traveled from home was the cleaners by the station. And in all that time, I had hardly seen anyone. Aside from Kumiko, the only people I could be said to have seen in two months were Malta and Kano and May Kasahara. It was a narrow world, a world that was standing still. But the narrower it became, and the more it betook of stillness, the more this world that enveloped me seemed to overflow with things and people that could only be called strange. They had been there all the while, it seemed, waiting in the shadows for me to stop moving. And every time the wind-up bird came to my yard to wind its spring, the world descended more deeply into chaos.

I rinsed my mouth and went on looking at my face for a time.

I cant find the image, I said to myself. I'm thirty, I'm standing still, and I cant find the image.

When I went from the bathroom to the bedroom, Kumiko was asleep.

Three days later, Tokutaro Mamiya called. At seven-thirty in the morning. I was eating breakfast with Kumiko at the time.

I am very, very sorry to be calling you so early in the morning. I do hope I haven't awakened you, said Mr. Mamiya, sounding genuinely apologetic.

I assured him that it was all right: I woke up every morning shortly after six.

He thanked me for my postcard and explained that he wanted to reach me before I left for work this morning, adding that he would be most grateful if I could see him briefly today during my lunch break. He was hoping to take an evening bullet train back to Hiroshima. He had planned to have more time here, he said, but something had come up that made it necessary for him to return home as soon as possible.

I pointed out that I was presently unemployed, that I was free all day, and that I could see him at his convenience, be it morning, noon, afternoon, or whenever.

But surely you must have something planned at some point in the day? he inquired with the utmost politeness.

I had no plan at all, I replied.

That being the case, might I be permitted to call upon you at your residence this morning at ten o'clock?

That would be fine.

Only after I hung up did it occur to me that I had forgotten to tell him how to find our house from the station. Oh, well, I figured, he knows the address; he can make his way here if he wants to.

Who was that? asked Kumiko.

The guy who's distributing Mr. Honda's keepsakes. Hes going to bring mine here later this morning.

No kidding? She took a sip of coffee and spread butter on her toast. That's very nice of him.

Sure is.

By the way, she said, shouldn't we-or at least you-go to pay our respects at Mr. Honda's: burn a stick of incense, that sort of thing?

Good idea. I'll ask him about that.

Preparing to leave the house, Kumiko asked me to zip her dress up. It was a tight fit, and closing the zipper took some doing. She was wearing a lovely fragrance behind her ears- something perfect for a summer morning. New cologne? I asked. Instead of answering, she glanced at her watch and reached up to fix her hair.

I'm late, she said, and took her handbag from the table.

I had straightened up the little room that Kumiko used for work and was emptying the wastebasket when I noticed a yellow ribbon she had discarded. It was peeking out from under a crumpled sheet of writing paper and a few pieces of junk mail. Its bright, glossy yellow was what had caught my eye. It was the kind of ribbon used to wrap presents, the bow tied in the shape of a flower. I lifted it from the wastebasket and examined it. The ribbon had been discarded along with some wrapping paper from the Matsuya department store. Under the paper was a box with the Christian Dior label. The lining inside the box formed the shape of a bottle. Judging from the box, this had been a pretty expensive item. I took it with me to the bathroom and opened Kumiko's cosmetics cabinet. Inside was a virtually unused bottle of Christian Dior eau de cologne, shaped like the hollow in the box. I opened the bottles gold- colored cap and took a sniff. It was the same fragrance I had smelled from behind Kumiko's ears. I sat on the sofa, drinking the rest of my morning coffee and collecting my thoughts.