Haruki Murakami - The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle

I'm not mad, I said. Then I looked up at the full moon again.

All right, then, Mr. Wind-Up Bird. You take care of yourself. I hope your wife comes back and everything works out. Moving with incredible lightness, May Kasahara swung herself over the wall and disappeared into the summer night.

With May Kasahara gone, I was alone again. I sat on the veranda, thinking about the questions she had raised. If Kumiko had gone off somewhere with a lover, could I take her back again? I didn't know the answer. I really didn't know. There were all kinds of things that I didn't know.

Suddenly the phone rang. My hand shot out in a conditioned reflex and picked up the receiver.

The voice at the other end belonged to a woman. This is Malta Kano, she said. Please forgive me for calling you so often, Mr. Okada, but I was wondering if you might happen to have any plans for tomorrow.

I had no plans, I said. Plans were simply something I did not have.

In that case, I wonder if it might be possible for me to see you after noon.

Does this have something to do with Kumiko?

I do believe that it does, said Malta Kano, choosing her words carefully. Noboru Wataya will also be joining us, most likely.

I almost dropped the receiver when I heard this. You mean the three of us will be getting together to talk?

Yes, I believe that is the case, said Malta Kano. The present situation makes this necessary. I am sorry, but I cannot go into any further detail on the telephone.

I see. All right, then, I said.

Shall we meet at one o'clock? In the same place we met before: the tearoom of the Shinagawa Pacific Hotel.

One o'clock in the tearoom of the Shinagawa Pacific Hotel, I said, and hung up.

May Kasahara called at ten o'clock. She had nothing in particular to say; she just wanted to talk to somebody. We chatted about harmless topics for a while. Tell me, Mr. Wind-Up Bird, she said in the end. Have you had any good news since I was there? No good news, I said. Nothing.

I arrived at the tearoom ten minutes early, but Noboru Wataya and Malta Kano had already found a table and were waiting for me. The lunchtime crowd was thick, but I spotted Malta Kano immediately. Not too many people wore red vinyl hats on sunny summer afternoons. It must have been the same hat she had on the day I met her, unless she owned a collection of vinyl hats, all the same style and color. She dressed with the same tasteful simplicity as before: a short-sleeved linen jacket over a collarless cotton top. Both pieces were perfectly white and perfectly free of wrinkles. No accessories, no makeup. Only the red vinyl hat clashed with the rest of the outfit, both in ambience and in material. As if she had been waiting for my arrival to do so, she removed the hat when I took my seat, placing it on the table. Beside the hat lay a small yellow leather handbag. She had ordered some sort of tonic water but had not touched it, as before. The liquid seemed vaguely uncomfortable in its tall glass, as if it had nothing better to do than produce its little bubbles.

Noboru Wataya was wearing green sunglasses. As soon as I sat down, he removed them and stared at the lenses for a while, then he put them back on. He wore what looked like a brand-new white polo shirt under a navy cotton sports coat. There was a glass of iced tea on the table in front of him, but he had apparently not touched his drink yet, either.

I ordered coffee and took a sip of ice water.

No one said anything. Noboru Wataya appeared not to have even noticed that I had arrived. In order to make sure that I had not suddenly turned transparent, I put a hand on the table and watched it as I turned it over and back a few times. Eventually, the waiter came, set a cup in front of me, and filled it with coffee. After he left, Malta Kano made little throat- clearing sounds as if testing a microphone, but still she said nothing.

The first to speak was Noboru Wataya. I have very little time to spare, so lets make this as simple and straightforward as possible. He seemed to be talking to the stainless-steel sugar bowl in the middle of the table, but of course he was speaking to me. The sugar bowl was just a convenient midpoint between us, toward which he could direct his speech.

Make what as simple and straightforward as possible? I asked straightforwardly.

At last Noboru Wataya took off his sunglasses, folded them, placed them on the table, and looked directly at me. More than three years had gone by since I had last met and spoken to the man, but I felt no sense of the intervening time- thanks, I assumed, to having had his face thrust in front of me so often by the media. Certain kinds of information are like smoke: they work their way into peoples eyes and minds whether sought out or not, and with no regard to personal preference.

Forced now to see the man in person, I couldn't help but notice how much the three years had changed the impression his face made. That almost stagnant, muddy look of his had been pushed into the background, to be covered over by something slick and artificial. Noboru Wataya had managed to find for himself a new, more sophisticated mask-a very well-made mask, to be sure: perhaps even a new skin. Whatever it was, mask or skin, I had to admit-yes, even I had to admit-that it had a certain kind of attractive power. And then it hit me: looking at this face was like looking at a television image. He talked the way people on television talked, and he moved the way people on television moved. There was always a layer of glass between us. I was on this side, and he was on that side.

As I am sure you must realize, we are here today to talk about Kumiko, said Noboru Wataya. About Kumiko and you. About your future. What you and she are going to do.

Going to do? I said, lifting my coffee cup and taking a sip. Can you be a little more concrete?

Noboru Wataya looked at me with strangely expressionless eyes. A little more concrete? Kumiko has taken a lover. Shes left you. Surely you are not suggesting that anyone involved in the present situation wants it to continue indefinitely. That would not be good for anyone.

Taken a lover? I asked.

Now please, wait just a moment. Malta Kano chose at this point to intervene. A discussion such as this has its own proper order. Mr. Wataya, Mr. Okada, it is important to proceed with this discussion in an orderly fashion.

I don't see that, said Noboru Wataya, without any sense of life in his voice. Theres no order to this. What kind of order do you mean? This discussion doesn't have any.

Let him speak first, I said to Malta Kano. We can add the proper order afterward- assuming there is one.

Malta Kano looked at me for a few seconds with her lips lightly pursed, then gave a little nod. All right, then, she said. Mr. Wataya first. Please.

Kumiko has had another man in her life, he began. And now shes gone off with him.

This much is clear. Which means there would be no point in your continuing to stay married. Fortunately, there are no children involved, and in view of the circumstances, no money need change hands. Everything can be settled quickly. She simply pulls out of your family register. You just have to sign and put your seal on forms prepared by a lawyer, and that takes care of that. And let me add this to avoid any misunderstanding: What I am saying now is the final view of the entire Wataya family.

I folded my arms and mulled over his words for a time. I have a few questions, I said. First of all, how do you know that Kumiko has another man?

She told me so herself, said Noboru Wataya.

I did not know what to say to that. I put my hands on the table and remained silent. It was hard for me to imagine Kumiko going to Noboru Wataya with such a personal matter.