Haruki Murakami - The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle

I was in the middle of preparing lunch when the phone rang again. I had cut two slices of bread, spread them with butter and mustard, filled them with tomato slices and cheese, set the whole on the cutting board, and I was just about to cut it in half when the bell started ringing.

I let the phone ring three times and cut the sandwich in half. Then I transferred it to a plate, wiped the knife, and put that in the cutlery drawer, before pouring myself a cup of the coffee I had warmed up.

Still the phone went on ringing. Maybe fifteen times. I gave up and took it. I would have preferred not to answer, but it might have been Kumiko.

Hello, said a womans voice, one I had never heard before. It belonged neither to Kumiko nor to the strange woman who had called me the other day when I was cooking spaghetti. I wonder if I might possibly be speaking with Mr. Toru Okada? said the voice, as if its owner were reading a text.

You are, I said.

The husband of Kumiko Okada?

That's right, I said. Kumiko Okada is my wife.

And Mrs. Okada's elder brother is Noboru Wataya?

Right again, I said, with admirable self-control. Noboru Wataya is my wifes elder brother.

Sir, my name is Malta Kano.

I waited for her to go on. The sudden mention of Kumiko's elder brother had put me on guard. With the blunt end of the pencil that lay by the phone, I scratched the back of my neck.

Five seconds or more went by, in which the woman said nothing. No sound of any kind came from the receiver, as if the woman had covered the mouthpiece with her hand and was talking with someone nearby.

Hello, I said, concerned now.

Please forgive me, sir, blurted the womans voice. In that case, I must ask your permission to call you at a later time.

Now wait a minute, I said. This is- At that point, the connection was cut. I stared at the receiver, then put it to my ear again. No doubt about it: the woman had hung up.

Vaguely dissatisfied, I turned to the kitchen table, drank my coffee, and ate my sandwich. Until the moment the telephone rang, I had been thinking of something, but now I couldn't remember what it was. Knife in my right hand poised to cut the sandwich in half, I had definitely been thinking of something. Something important. Something I had been trying unsuccessfully to recall for the longest time. It had come to me at the very moment when I was about to cut the sandwich in two, but now it was gone. Chewing on my sandwich, I tried hard to bring it back. But it wouldn't come. It had returned to that dark region of my mind where it had been living until that moment.

I finished eating and was clearing the dishes when the phone rang again. This time I took it right away.

Again I heard a woman saying Hello, but this time it was Kumiko. How are you? she asked. Finished lunch? Yup. What'd you have? Nothing, she said. Too busy. I'll probably buy myself a sandwich later. What'd you have? I described my sandwich. I see, she said, without a hint of envy. Oh, by the way, I forgot to tell you this morning.

You're going to get a call from a Miss Kano. She already called, I said. A few minutes ago. All she did was mention our names- mine and yours and your brothers-and hang up. Never said what she wanted. What was that all about?

She hung up? Said shed call again. Well, when she does, I want you to do whatever she asks. This is really important. I think you'll have to go see her. When? Today? Whats wrong? Do you have something planned? Are you supposed to see someone? Nope. No plans. Not yesterday, not today, not tomorrow: no plans at all. But who is this Kano woman? And what does she want with me? Id like to have some idea before she calls again. If its about a job for me connected with your brother, forget it. I don't want to have anything to do with him. You know that.

No, it has nothing to do with a job, she said, with a hint of annoyance. Its about the cat.

The cat?

Oh, sorry, I've got to run. Somebody's waiting for me. I really shouldn't have taken the time to make this call. Like I said, I haven't even had lunch. Mind if I hang up? I'll get back to you as soon as I'm free.

Look, I know how busy you are, but give me a break. I want to know whats going on. Whats with the cat? Is this Kano woman- Just do what she tells you, will you, please? Understand? This is serious business. I want you to stay home and wait for her call. Gotta go.

And she went.

When the phone rang at two-thirty, I was napping on the couch. At first I thought I was hearing the alarm clock. I reached out to push the button, but the clock was not there. I wasn't in bed but was on the couch, and it wasn't morning but afternoon. I got up and went to the phone.

Hello, I said.

Hello, said a womans voice. It was the woman who had called in the morning. Mr. Toru Okada?

That's me. Toru Okada. Sir, my name is Malta Kano, she said. The lady who called before. That is correct. I am afraid I was terribly rude. But tell me, Mr. Okada, would you by any chance be free this afternoon? You might say that. Well, in that case, I know this is terribly sudden, but do you think it might be possible for us to meet? When? Today? Now? Yes. I looked at my watch. Not that I really had to-I had looked at it thirty seconds earlier-but just to make sure. And it was still two-thirty. Will it take long? I asked. Not so very long, I think. I could be wrong, though. At this moment in time, it is difficult for me to say with complete accuracy. I am sorry. No matter how long it might take, I had no choice. Kumiko had told me to do as the woman said: that it was serious business. If she said it was serious business, then it was serious business, and I had better do as I was told.

I see, I said. Where should we meet?

Would you by any chance be acquainted with the Pacific Hotel, across from Shinagawa Station?

I would.

There is a tearoom on the first floor. I shall be waiting there for you at four o'clock if that would be all right with you, sir.

Fine, I said. I am thirty-one years old, and I shall be wearing a red vinyl hat. Terrific. There was something weird about the way this woman talked, something that confused me momentarily. But I could not have said exactly what made it so weird. Nor was there any law against a thirty-one-year-old womans wearing a red vinyl hat.

I see, I said. I'm sure I'll find you.

I wonder, Mr. Okada, if you would be so kind as to tell me of any external distinguishing characteristics in your own case.

I tried to think of any external distinguishing characteristics I might have. Did I in fact have any?

I'm thirty, I'm five foot nine, a hundred and forty pounds, short hair, no glasses. It occurred to me as I listed these for her that they hardly constituted external distinguishing characteristics. There could be fifty such men in the Pacific Hotel tearoom. I had been there before, and it was a big place. She needed something more noticeable. But I couldn't think of anything. Which is not to say that I didn't have any distinguishing characteristics. I owned a signed copy of Miles Daviss Sketches of Spain. I had a slow resting pulse rate: forty-seven normally, and no higher than seventy with a high fever. I was out of work. I knew the names of all the brothers Karamazov. But none of these distinguishing characteristics was external.

What might you be wearing? she asked. I don't know, I said. I haven't decided yet. This is so sudden. Then please wear a polka-dot necktie, she said decisively. Do you think you might have a polka-dot necktie, sir? I think I do, I said. I had a navy-blue tie with tiny cream polka dots. Kumiko had given it to me for my birthday a few years earlier. Please be so kind as to wear it, then, she said. Thank you for agreeing to meet me at four o'clock. And she hung up.