Haruki Murakami - The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle

You know, I said to the woman, the very first thing I want to do is find out who you are. You tell me I know you, and I've tried as hard as I can to recall you, but without success. Who are you?

Who am I? the woman parroted, but without a hint of mockery. Id like a drink. Pour two on the rocks, will you? You will drink with me, I suppose?

I went back to the living room, opened the new bottle of whiskey, put ice in the glasses, and poured two drinks. In the dark, this took a good deal of time. I carried the drinks into the bedroom. The woman told me to set one on the night table. And you sit on the chair by the foot of the bed.

I did as I was told, placing one glass on the night table and sitting in an upholstered armchair some distance away, drink in hand. My eyes had perhaps grown somewhat more used to the darkness. I could see shadows shifting there. The woman seemed to have raised herself on the bed. Then there was the clink of ice as she drank. I, too, took a sip of whiskey.

For a long time, she said nothing. The longer the silence continued, the stronger the smell of flowers seemed to become.

Do you really want to know who I am? the woman asked. That's why I'm here, I said, but my voice resounded uneasily in the darkness. You came here specifically to learn my name, didn't you? Instead of answering, I cleared my throat, but this also had a strange reverberation. The woman jiggled the ice in her glass a few times. You want to know my name, she said, but unfortunately, I cant tell you what it is. I know you very well. You know me very well. But I don't know me.

I shook my head in the darkness. I don't get it, I said. And I'm sick of riddles. I need something concrete that I can get my hands on. Hard facts. Something I can use as a lever to pry the door open. That's what I want.

The woman seemed to wring a sigh out of the core of her body. Toru Okada, I want you to discover my name. But no: you don't have to discover it. You know it already. All you have to do is remember it. If you can find my name, then I can get out of here. I can even help you find your wife: help you find Kumiko Okada. If you want to find your wife, try hard to discover my name. That is the lever you want. You don't have time to stay lost. Every day you fail to find it, Kumiko Okada moves that much farther away from you.

I set my whiskey glass on the floor. Tell me, I said, where is this place? How long have you been here? What do you do here?

You have to leave now, said the woman, as if she had suddenly recalled what she was doing. If he finds you here, there'll be trouble. Hes even more dangerous than you think. He might really kill you. I wouldn't put it past him. Who is this he?

The woman didn't answer, and I didn't know what else to say. I felt lost. Nothing stirred in the room. The silence was deep and thick and suffocating. My head felt feverish. The pollen might have been doing it. Mixed with the air, the microscopic grains were penetrating my head and driving my nerves haywire.

Tell me, Toru Okada, said the woman, her voice suddenly very different. The quality of her voice could change in an instant. Now it had become one with the rooms thick, heavy air.

Do you ever think you'd like to hold me again? That you'd like to get inside me? That you'd like to kiss me all over? You can do anything you want to me, you know. And I'll do anything you want... anything ... things that your wife ... Kumiko Okada ... would never do for you. I'll make you feel so good you'll never forget it. If you- With no warning at all, there was a knock on the door. It had the hard, precise sound of a nail being driven straight in-an ominous sound in the dark.

The womans hand came out of the darkness and took me by the arm. Come this way, she whispered. Hurry. Her voice had lost the dreamy quality now. The knocking started again: two knocks with precisely the same force. It suddenly occurred to me that I hadn't locked the door.

Hurry, she said. You have to get out of here. This is the only way.

I moved through the darkness as the woman drew me on. I could hear the doorknob turning slowly. The sound sent chills down my spine. At the very moment the light from the corridor pierced the darkness, we slipped into the wall. It had the consistency of a gigantic mass of cold gelatin; I clamped my mouth shut to prevent its coming inside. The thought struck me: I'm passing through the wall! In order to go from one place to another, I was passing through a wall. And yet, even as it was happening, it seemed like the most natural thing to do.

I felt the womans tongue coming into my mouth. Warm and soft, it probed every crevice and it wound around my own tongue. The heavy smell of flower petals stroked the walls of my lungs. Down in my loins, I felt a dull need to come. Clamping my eyes closed, I fought it.

A moment later, I felt a kind of intense heat on my right cheek. It was an odd sensation. I felt no pain, only the awareness that there was heat there. I couldn't tell whether the heat was coming from the outside or boiling up inside me. Soon everything was gone: the womans tongue, the smell of flowers, the need to come, the heat on my cheek. And I passed through the wall. When I opened my eyes I was on the other side of the wall-at the bottom of a deep well.

The sky was already bright at something after five in the morning, but even so, I could make out a lot of stars overhead. It was just as Lieutenant Mamiya had told me: from the bottom of a well, you can see stars in the daylight. Into the perfect half-moon slice of sky, faintly glowing stars were packed neatly, like specimens of rare minerals.

Once before, when camping on a mountaintop with some friends in the fifth or sixth grade, I had seen stars in such numbers that they filled the sky. It almost seemed as if the sky would break under the weight of all those things and come tumbling down. Never had I seen such an amazing skyful of stars. Unable to sleep after the others had drowsed off, I crawled out of the tent and lay on the ground, looking at the sky. Now and then, a shooting star would trace a bright arc across the heavens. The longer I watched, though, the more nervous it made me. There were simply too many stars, and the sky was too vast and deep. A huge, overpowering foreign object, it surrounded me, enveloped me, and made me feel almost dizzy. Until that moment, I had always thought that the earth on which I stood was a solid object that would last forever. Or rather, I had never thought about such a thing at all. I had simply taken it for granted. But in fact, the earth was nothing but a chunk of rock floating in one little corner of the universe: a. temporary foothold in the vast emptiness of space. It-and all of us with it-could be blown away tomorrow by a momentary flash of something or a tiny shift in the universes energy. Beneath this breathtaking skyful of stars, the uncertainty of my own ex- istence struck me full force (though not in so many words, of course). It was a stunning discovery for a young boy.

Looking up at the dawn stars from the bottom of a well was a special experience very different from looking at the full, starry sky on a mountaintop, as if my mind-my self-my very existence-were firmly bonded through my narrow window to each one of those stars in the sky. I felt a deep sense of intimacy toward them: they were my stars, visible to no one but me, down here in the dark well. I embraced them as my own, and they in turn showered me with a kind of energy and warmth.

As time passed and the sky came increasingly under the sway of the bright morning sun of summer, one star at a time would obliterate itself from my field of view. They did this with the utmost gentleness, and I studied the process of obliteration with wide-open eyes. The summer sun did not, however, erase every star from the sky. A few of the strongest ones remained. No matter how high the sun climbed, they took a stubborn stance and refused to disappear. This made me very happy: aside from the occasional cloud that drifted by, the stars were the only things I could see from down there.