Haruki Murakami - The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle

Someone had obviously given Kumiko a gift. An expensive gift. Bought it at the Matsuya department store and had it wrapped with a ribbon. If the person who did this was a man, he was someone close to Kumiko. Men didn't give women (especially married women) cologne unless their relationship was a close one. If a woman friend had given it to her ... But did women give eau de cologne to other women? I could not be sure. One thing I could be sure of, though, was that there was no particular reason for Kumiko to be receiving presents from other people at this time of year. Her birthday was in May. So was our anniversary. She might conceivably have bought herself a bottle of cologne and had it wrapped with a pretty ribbon. But why?

I sighed and looked at the ceiling.

Should I ask her about it directly? Did somebody give you that cologne? She might answer: Oh, that. One of the girls at work had a personal problem I helped her out with. Its too long a story to go into, but she was in a jam, so I did it to be nice. This was a thank-you gift. Wonderful fragrance, don't you think? Its expensive stuff!

OK, that makes sense. That does it. No need to ask the question. No need to be concerned.

Except I was concerned. She should have said something to me about it. If she had time to go to her room, untie the ribbon, tear off the wrapping paper, open the box, throw all three in the wastebasket, and put the bottle in her cosmetics cabinet, she should have been able to come to me and say, Look at this present I got from one of the girls at work. Instead, she had said nothing. Maybe she had thought it wasn't worth mentioning. Now, however, it had taken on the thin veil of secrecy. That was what was bothering me.

I looked at the ceiling for a long time. I tried to think about something else, but my mind wouldn't cooperate. I kept thinking about Kumiko at the moment I zipped up her dress: her smooth white back, the fragrance behind her ears. For the first time in months, I wanted a smoke. I wanted to put a cigarette in my mouth, light the tip, and suck the smoke into my lungs. That would have calmed me down somewhat. But I didn't have any cigarettes. I found a lemon drop and sucked on that.

At ten of ten, the phone rang. I assumed it was Lieutenant Mamiya. This house was not easy to find. Even people who had been here more than once got lost sometimes. But the call was not from Lieutenant Mamiya. What I heard coming from the receiver was the voice of the enigmatic woman who had phoned me the other day.

Hi, honey, its been a while, she said. How'd you like it last time? Did I get you going a little bit? Why'd you hang up on me? And just when things were getting interesting!

For a split second, I thought she was talking about my recent wet dream of Kano. But that had been a different story. She was talking about the day she called me when I was cooking spaghetti.

Sorry, I said, but I'm pretty busy right now. I'm expecting a visitor in ten minutes, and I've got to get the place ready.

You're awfully busy for somebody who's supposed to be out of work, she said, with a sarcastic edge. The same thing had happened last time: her tone of voice changed from one second to the next. You're cooking spaghetti, you're expecting a visitor. But thats all right. All we need is ten minutes. Lets talk for ten minutes, just you and me. You can hang up when your guest arrives.

I wanted to hang up without saying a word, but I couldn't do it. I was probably still upset about Kumiko's cologne. I probably felt like talking to someone, and it didn't much matter who.

Look, I said, I don't have any idea who you are. I picked up the pencil lying beside the phone and twirled it in my fingers as I spoke. Are you sure I know you?

Of course you do. I told you last time. I know you and you know me. I wouldn't lie about a thing like that. I don't have time to waste calling complete strangers. You must have some kind of blind spot in your memory.

I don't know about that. Really, though- Enough, she said, cutting me off. Stop thinking so much. You know me and I know you. The important thing is-well, look at it this way: I'm going to be very nice to you. But you don't have to do a thing. Isn't that marvelous? You don't have to do a thing, you have no responsibilities, and I do everything. Everything. Don't you think thats great? So stop thinking so much. Stop making everything so complicated. Empty yourself out. Pretend you're lying in some nice, soft mud on a warm spring afternoon.

I kept silent.

You're asleep. You're dreaming. You're lying in nice, warm mud. Forget about your wife. Forget you're out of work. Forget about the future. Forget about everything. We all come out of the warm mud, and we all go back to it. Finally- Oh, by the way, Mr. Okada, when was the last time you had sex with your wife? Do you remember? Quite some time ago, wasn't it? Yes, indeed, maybe two weeks now.

Sorry, my visitor is here, I said. More than two weeks, wasn't it? I can tell from your voice. Three weeks, maybe? I said nothing. Oh, well, never mind, she said, her voice like a little broom sweeping off the dust that had piled up on the slats of a Venetian blind. That's between you and your wife. But I will give you everything you want. And you, Mr. Okada, you need have no responsibilities in return. Just go round the corner, and there it is: a world you've never seen. I told you you have a blind spot, didn't I? You still don't understand.

Gripping the receiver, I maintained my silence.

Look around, she said. Look all around you and tell me whats there. What is it you see?

Just then the doorbell rang. Relieved, I hung up without a word.

Lieutenant Mamiya was a bald old gentleman of exceptional height, who wore gold- rimmed glasses. He had the tan, healthy look of a man who has done his share of manual labor, without an ounce of excess flesh. Three deep wrinkles marked the corner of each eye with perfect symmetry, as if he were on the verge of squinting because he found the light harsh. It was difficult to tell his age, though he was certainly no less than seventy. I imagined he must have been a strapping fellow in his prime. This was obvious from his erect carriage and efficient movements. His demeanor and speech were of the utmost respectfulness, but rather than elaborate formality, this gave an impression of unadorned precision. The lieutenant appeared to be a man accustomed to making his own decisions and taking responsibility for them. He wore an unremarkable light-gray suit, a. white shirt, and a gray and black striped tie. The no-nonsense suit appeared to be made of a material that was a bit too thick for a hot and humid June morning, but the lieutenant was unmarked by a drop of sweat. He had a prosthetic left hand, on which he wore a thin glove of the same light-gray color as the suit. Encased in this gray glove, the artificial hand looked especially cold and inorganic when compared with the tanned and hairy right hand, from which dangled a cloth- wrapped bundle, knotted at the top.

I showed him to the living room couch and served him a cup of green tea.

He apologized for not having a name card. I used to teach social studies in a rural public high school in Hiroshima Prefecture, but I haven't done anything since I retired. I raise a few vegetables, more as a hobby than anything, just simple farm work. For that reason, I do not happen to carry a name card, although I realize it is terribly rude of me.

I didn't have a name card, either. Forgive me, but I wonder how old you might be, Mr. Okada? I'm thirty, I said. He nodded. Then he took a sip of tea. I had no idea what it meant to him that I was thirty years old. This is such a nice, quiet home you live in, he said, as if to change the subject. I told him how I came to be renting it from my uncle for so little. Ordinarily, with our income, we couldn't afford to live in a house half the size, I added. Nodding, he stole a few hesitant glances around the place. I followed his lead and did the same. Look all around you, the womans voice had ordered me. Taking this newly conscious look at my surroundings, I found a certain coldness in the pervading atmosphere.