Haruki Murakami - The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle

After ten minutes, May Kasahara came back. She handed me a large glass. Ice clinked inside when I took it. The sound seemed to reach me from a distant world. There were several gates connecting that world with the place where I was, and I could hear the sound because they all just happened to be open at the moment. But this was strictly temporary. If even one of them closed, the sound would no longer reach my ears. Drink it, she said. Lemon juice in water. It'll clear your head.

I managed to drink half and returned the glass to her. The cold water passed my throat and made its way down slowly into my body, after which a violent wave of nausea overtook me. The decomposing lump of string in my stomach began to unravel and make its way up to the base of my throat. I closed my eyes and tried to let it pass. With my eyes closed, I saw Kumiko boarding the train, with her blouse and skirt in hand. I thought it might be better to vomit. But I did not vomit. I took several deep breaths until the feeling diminished and disappeared altogether. Are you OK? asked May Kasahara.

Yeah, I'm OK, I said. I made the call, she said. Told them I was a relative. That's OK, isn't it? Uh-huh. This person, Kumiko Okada, thats Mrs. Wind-Up Bird, isn't it? Uh-huh. They said she didn't come to work-today or yesterday. Just took off without a word. Its a real problem for them. Shes not the type to do this kind of thing, they said. Its true. Shes not the type. Shes been gone since yesterday? I nodded. Poor Mr. Wind-Up Bird, she said. She sounded as if she really did feel sorry for me.

She put her hand on my forehead. Is there anything I can do? Not now, I said. But thanks. Do you mind if I ask more? Or would you rather I didn't? Go ahead, I said. I'm not sure I can answer, though. Did your wife run away with a man?

I'm not sure, I said. Maybe so. Its possible. But you've been living together all this time. How can you not be sure? She was right. How could I not be sure? Poor Mr. Wind-Up Bird, she said again. I wish I had something to say to help you, but I don't know anything about married life. I got out of my chair. The effort required to stand was far greater than I would have imagined. Thanks for everything. You've been a big help. I've got to go now. I should be at home in case word comes. Somebody might call.

As soon as you get home, take a shower. First thing. OK? Then put on clean clothes. And shave.

Shave? I stroked my jaw. It was true: I had forgotten to shave. The thought hadn't crossed my mind all morning.

The little things are important, Mr. Wind-Up Bird, May Kasahara said, looking into my eyes. Go home and take a good look in the mirror.

I will, I said. Mind if I come over later?

Fine, I said. Then I added: You'd be a big help. May Kasahara nodded in silence.

At home, I looked at my face in the mirror. It was true: I looked terrible. I got undressed, showered, gave myself a good shampoo, shaved, brushed my teeth, put aftershave lotion on my face, and went to the mirror again for a close examination. A little better than before, it seemed. My nausea was gone. My head was still a little foggy, though.

I put on short pants and a fresh polo shirt. I sat on the veranda, leaning against a pillar and watching the garden while my hair dried. I tried to put the events of recent days in order. First there was the call from Lieutenant Mamiya. That had been yesterday morning? Yes, no doubt about it: yesterday morning. Then Kumiko had left the house. I had zipped up her dress. Then I had found the cologne box. Then Lieutenant Mamiya had come and told me his strange war stories: how he had been captured by Outer Mongolian troops and thrown into a well. He had left me the keepsake from Mr. Honda. An empty box. Then Kumiko had failed to come home. She had picked up her cleaning that morning by the station and afterward just disappeared somewhere. Without a word to her company. So that was what had happened yesterday.

I could hardly believe that all that had happened in the course of a single day. It was too much for one day.

As I mulled these things over, I began to feel incredibly sleepy. This was not an ordinary kind of sleepiness. It was an intense, even violent, sleepiness. Sleep was stripping me of consciousness the way the clothes might be stripped from the body of an unresisting person. I went to the bedroom without thinking, took everything off but my underwear, and got in bed. I tried to look at the clock on the night table, but I couldn't even turn my head sideways. I closed my eyes and fell instantly into a deep, bottomless sleep.

In my sleep, I was zipping up Kumiko's dress. I could see her smooth white back. But by the time I had the zipper to the top, I realized it was not Kumiko but Creta Kano. She and I were the only ones in the room.

It was the same room as in the last dream: a room in the same hotel suite. On the table was a bottle of Cutty Sark and two glasses. There was also a stainless-steel ice bucket, full of ice. In the corridor outside, someone was passing by, speaking in a loud voice. I couldn't catch the words, which seemed to be in a foreign language. An unlighted chandelier hung from the ceiling. The only illumination in this murky room came from lamps mounted on the wall. Again the windows had thick curtains that were closed tight.

Creta Kano was wearing a summer dress of Kumiko's: pale blue, with an openwork pattern of birds. The skirt came to just above her knees. As always, her makeup was in the Jacqueline Kennedy style. On her left wrist she wore a matched pair of bracelets.

How did you get that dress? I asked. Is it yours?

Creta Kano looked at me and shook her head. When she did this, the curled tips of her hair moved in a pleasant way. No, it is not mine, she said. I'm borrowing it. But don't worry, Mr. Okada, this is not causing anyone any difficulty.

Where are we? I asked.

Creta Kano didn't answer. As before, I was sitting on the edge of the bed. I wore a suit and my polka-dot tie.

You don't have to think about a thing, Mr. Okada, said Creta Kano. There is nothing to worry about. Everything is going to be fine.

And again, as before, she unzipped my fly, took out my penis, and put it in her mouth.

The one thing different from before was that she did not take off her own clothing. She wore Kumiko's dress the whole time. I tried to move, but it felt as if my body were tied down by invisible threads. I felt myself growing big and hard inside her mouth.

I saw her fake eyelashes and curled hair tips moving. Her bracelets made a dry sound against each other. Her tongue was long and soft and seemed to wrap itself around me. Just as I was about to come, she suddenly moved away and began slowly to undress me. She took off my jacket, my tie, my pants, my shirt, my underwear, and made me lie down on the bed. Her own clothes she kept on, though. She sat on the bed, took my hand, and brought it under her dress. She was not wearing panties. My hand felt the warmth of her vagina. It was deep, warm, and very wet. My fingers were all but sucked inside.

Wont Noboru Wataya be here any minute? I asked. Weren't you expecting to see him here?

Instead of answering, Creta Kano touched my forehead. You don't have to think, Mr. Okada. Well take care of all that. Leave everything to us.

To us? I asked, but there was no reply.

Then Creta Kano mounted me and used her hand to slip me inside her. Once she had me deep inside, she began a slow rotation of her hips. As she moved, the edges of the pale-blue dress caressed my naked stomach and thighs. With the skirts of the dress spread out around her, Creta Kano, riding atop me, looked like a soft, gigantic mushroom that had silently poked its face up through the dead leaves on the ground and opened under the sheltering wings of night. Her vagina felt warm and at the same time cold. It tried to envelop me, to draw me in, and at the same time to press me out. My erection grew larger and harder. I felt I was about to burst wide open. It was the strangest sensation, something that went beyond simple sexual pleasure. It felt as if something inside her, something special inside her, were slowly working its way through my organ into me.