Haruki Murakami - The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle

At eleven o'clock I called the office again. The same girl answered, and again she told me that Kumiko had not come in.

Was she planning to miss work today? I asked.

Not to my knowledge, she said, without a trace of feeling. She was just reporting the facts.

Something was out of the ordinary if Kumiko had still not reported to work at eleven o'clock. Most publishers editorial offices kept irregular hours, but not Kumiko's company. Producing magazines on health and natural foods, they had to deal with the kind of writers and other professionals- food producers, farmers, doctors-who went to work early in the morning and home in the evening. To accommodate them, Kumiko and her colleagues reported to the company at nine o'clock sharp and left by five, unless there was some special reason to stay later.

Hanging up, I went to the bedroom and looked through her closet. If she had run off, Kumiko should have taken her clothes. I checked the dresses and blouses and skirts that were hanging there. Of course, I didn't know every piece of clothing she owned-I didn't know every piece of clothing that I owned-but I often took her things to the cleaners and picked them up for her, so I had a pretty good grasp of which items she wore most often and which were most important to her, and as far as I could tell, just about everything was there.

Besides, she had had no opportunity to take a lot of clothes with her. I tried to recall as precisely as possible her departure from the house the day before-the clothes she wore, the bag she carried. All she had had with her was the shoulder bag she always carried to work, stuffed with notebooks and cosmetics and her wallet and pens and a handkerchief and tissues. A change of clothing would never have fit inside.

I looked through her dresser drawers. Accessories, stockings, sunglasses, panties, cotton tops: everything was there, arranged in neat rows. If anything had disappeared, it was impossible for me to tell. Panties and stockings, of course, she could have managed to take in her shoulder bag, but come to think of it, why would she have bothered? Those she could have picked up anywhere.

I went back to the bathroom for another look at her vanity drawers. No sign of change there, either: just a lot of little cosmetics containers and accessories stuffed inside. I opened the bottle of Christian Dior cologne and took another sniff. It smelled the same as before: the fragrance of a white flower, perfect for a summer morning. Again I thought of her ears and her white back.

I went to the living room and stretched out on the sofa. I closed my eyes and listened. Virtually the only sound I could hear was that of the clock ticking off time. There were no car noises or birds chirping. I had no idea what to do now. I decided to call her office again and got as far as lifting the receiver and dialing the first few numbers, but the thought of having to talk to that same girl was too much for me, and I put the receiver back. There was nothing more for me to do. I could only wait. Perhaps it was true that Kumiko was leaving me-for what reason I did not know, but it was at least a possibility. Even if it was true, though, she was not the kind of person who would leave without a word. She would do her best to explain her exact reasons as precisely as possible. Of that I was one hundred percent certain.

Or, then, there might have been an accident. She might have been run down by a car and rushed to the hospital. She could be unconscious at that moment and receiving a transfusion. The thought made my heart pound, but I knew that she was carrying her license and credit cards and address book. The hospital or the police would have contacted me by now.

I went to sit on the veranda and look at the garden, but in fact, I didn't look at anything. I tried to think, but I couldn't concentrate my attention on any one thing. All that came to mind, again and again, was Kumiko's back as I raised the zipper of her dress-her back, and the smell of the cologne behind her ears.

After one o'clock, the phone rang. I stood up from the sofa and lifted the receiver.

Pardon me, but would this be Mr. Okada's home? asked a womans voice. It was Malta Kano. That's right, I said.

My name is Malta Kano. I am calling about the cat. The cat? I said with some confusion. I had forgotten all about it. Now, of course, I remembered, but it seemed like something from ages ago.

The cat that Mrs. Okada was searching for, Malta Kano explained.

Sure, sure, I said.

Malta Kano fell silent at her end, as if gauging something. My tone of voice might have put her on alert. I cleared my throat and shifted the receiver to my other hand.

After a short pause, Malta Kano said, I must tell you, Mr. Okada, I believe that the cat will almost certainly never be found. I hate to say this, but the best you can do is resign yourself to the fact. It is gone forever. Barring some major change, the cat will never come back.

Some major change? I asked. But she did not respond.

Malta Kano remained silent for a long time. I waited for her to say something, but try as I might, I could not hear the smallest breath from her end of the line. Just as I was beginning to suspect that the telephone was out of order, she began to speak again.

It may be terribly rude of me to say this, Mr. Okada, but aside from the cat, isn't there perhaps something with which I can be of help?

I could not reply to her immediately. With the receiver in my hand, I leaned back against the wall. It took some time for the words to come.

Things are still not very clear to me, I said. I don't know anything for sure. I'm trying to work it out in my own mind. But I think my wife has left me. I explained to her that Kumiko had not come home the night before or reported to work that morning.

She seemed to be mulling this over at her end. You must be very worried, she said. There is nothing I can say at this point, but things should begin to come clear before too long. Now all you can do is wait. It must be hard for you, but there is a right time for everything. Like the ebb and flow of the tides. No one can do anything to change them. When it is time to wait, you must wait.

Look, Miss Kano, I'm grateful for the trouble you've taken with the cat and all, but right now I'm not exactly in the mood for smooth-sounding generalities. I'm feeling lost. Really lost. Something awful is going to happen: I feel it. But I don't know what to do. I have absolutely no idea what I should do. Is that clear? I don't even know what I should do after I end this call. What I need right now is facts. Concrete facts. I don't care how stupid and simple they might be, I'll take any facts I can get-am I making myself clear? I need something I can see and touch.

Through the phone I heard the sound of something falling on the floor: something not very heavy-perhaps a single pearl-dropping onto a wooden floor. This was followed by a rubbing sound, as if a piece of tracing paper were being held in someones fingertips and given a vigorous yank. These movements seemed to be occurring someplace neither very close to nor far from the telephone, but they were apparently of no interest to Malta Kano.

I see, she said in a flat, expressionless voice. Something concrete. That's right. As concrete as possible. Wait for a phone call. Waiting for a phone call is all I've been doing.

You should be getting a call soon from a person whose name begins with O. Does this person know something about Kumiko? That I cant say. I'm just telling you this because you said you would take any concrete facts you could get. And here is another one: Before very long, a half-moon will last for several days.

A half-moon? I asked. You mean the moon in the sky?

Yes, Mr. Okada, the moon in the sky. In any case, the thing for you to do is wait. Waiting is everything. Goodbye, then. I'll be talking to you again soon. And she hung up.