Haruki Murakami - The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle

I recalled my mark. That patch on my cheek was still slightly warm to the touch. It was still there, all right-I had no need to look in the mirror. It wasn't the kind of little nothing that just disappears by itself overnight. I thought about looking up a nearby dermatologist in the phone book when it got light out, but how could I answer if a doctor asked me what I thought the cause might be? I was in a well for two or three days. No, it had nothing to do with work or anything; I was just there to do a little thinking. I figured the bottom of a well would be a good place for that. No, I didn't take any food with me. No, it wasn't on my property; it belonged to another house. A vacant house in the neighborhood. I went in without permission.

I sighed. I could never say these things to anyone, of course.

I set my elbows on the table and, without really intending to, found myself thinking in strangely vivid detail about Creta Kano's naked body. She was sound asleep in my bed. I thought about the time in my dream when I joined my body with hers as she wore Kumiko's dress. I still had a clear impression of the touch of her skin, the weight of her flesh. Without a step-by-step investigation of that event, I would not be able to distinguish the point at which the real ended and the unreal took over. The wall separating the two regions had begun to melt. In my memory, at least, the real and the unreal seemed to be residing together with equal weight and vividness. I had joined my body with Creta Kano's, and at the same time, I had not.

To clear my head of these jumbled sexual images, I had to go to the washbasin and splash my face with cold water. A little while later, I looked in on Creta Kano. She was still sound asleep. She had pushed the cover down to her waist. From where I stood, I could see only her back. It reminded me of my last view of Kumiko's back. Now that I thought about it, Creta Kano's figure was amazingly like Kumiko's. I had failed to notice the resemblance until now because their hair and their taste in clothes and their makeup were so utterly different. They were the same height and appeared to be about the same weight. They probably wore the same dress size.

I carried my own summer comforter to the living room, stretched out on the sofa, and opened my book. I had been reading a history book from the library. It was all about Japanese management of Manchuria before the war and the battle with the Soviets in Nomonhan. Lieutenant Mamiya's story had aroused my interest in continental affairs of the period, and I had borrowed several books on the subject. Now, however, less than ten minutes into the finely detailed historical narrative, I was falling asleep. I laid the book on the floor, intending to rest my eyes for a few moments, but I fell into a deep sleep, with the lights still on.

A sound from the kitchen woke me up. When I went to investigate, Creta Kano was there, making breakfast, wearing a white T-shirt and blue shorts, both of which belonged to Kumiko.

Where are your clothes? I demanded, standing in the kitchen door. Oh, I'm sorry. You were asleep, so I took the liberty of borrowing some of your wifes clothing. I knew it was terribly forward of me, but I didn't have a thing to wear, said Creta Kano, turning just her head to look at me. At some point since I last saw her, she had reverted to her usual sixties style of hair and makeup, lacking only the fake eyelashes.

No, thats no problem, I said. What I want to know is what happened to your clothes. I lost them, she said simply.

Lost them? Yes. I lost them somewhere. I stepped into the kitchen and watched, leaning against the table, as Creta Kano made an omelette. With deft movements, she cracked the eggs, added seasoning, and beat the mixture. Meaning you came here naked?

Yes, that is correct, said Creta Kano, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I was completely naked. You know that, Mr. Okada. You put the cover on me.

Well, true enough, I mumbled. But what Id like to know is, where and how did you lose your clothing, and how did you manage to get here with nothing on?

I don't know that any better than you do, said Creta Kano, while shaking the frying pan to fold the omelette over on itself.

You don't know that any better than I do, I said. Creta Kano slipped the omelette onto a plate and garnished it with a few stalks of freshly steamed broccoli. She had also made toast, which she set on the table, along with coffee. I put out the butter and salt and pepper. Then, like a newly married couple, we sat down to breakfast, facing each other.

It was then that I recalled my mark. Creta Kano had shown no surprise when she looked at me, and she asked me nothing about it. I reached up to touch the spot and found it slightly warm, as before. Does that hurt, Mr. Okada? No, not at all, I said.

Creta Kano stared at my face for a time. It looks like a mark, she said.

It looks like a mark to me too, I said. I'm wondering whether I should show it to a doctor or not.

It strikes me as something that a doctor would not be able to handle. You may be right, I said. But I cant just ignore it. Fork in hand, Creta Kano thought for a moment. If you have shopping or other business, I could do it for you. You can stay inside as long as you like, if you would rather not go out. I'm grateful for the offer, but you must have your own things to do, and I cant just stay holed up in here forever. Creta Kano thought about that for a while too. Malta Kano would probably know how to deal with this. Would you mind getting in touch with her for me, then? Malta Kano gets in touch with other people, but she does not allow other people to get in touch with her. Creta Kano bit into a piece of broccoli. But you can get in touch with her, I'm sure? Of course. We're sisters. Well, next time you talk to her, why don't you ask her about my mark? Or you could ask her to get in touch with me. I am sorry, but that is something I cannot do. I am not allowed to approach my sister on someone else's behalf. Its a sort of rule we have. Buttering my toast, I let out a sigh. You mean to say, if I have something I need to talk to Malta Kano about, all I can do is wait for her to get in touch with me? That is exactly what I mean, said Creta Kano. Then she nodded. But about that mark.

Unless it hurts or itches, I suggest that you forget about it for a while. I never let things like that bother me. And you should not let it bother you, either, Mr. Okada. People just get these things sometimes.

I wonder, I said.

For several minutes after that, we went on eating our breakfast in silence. I hadn't eaten breakfast with another person for quite a while now, and this one was particularly delicious. Creta Kano seemed pleased when I told her this.

Anyhow, I said, about your clothes ...

Does it bother you that I put on your wifes clothing without permission? she asked, with obvious concern.

No, not at all. I don't care what you wear of Kumiko's. She left them here, after all. What I'm concerned about is how you lost your own clothes.

And not just my clothes. My shoes too. So how did it happen? I cant remember, said Creta Kano. All I know is I woke up in your bed with nothing on. I cant remember what happened before that. You did go down into the well, didn't you-after I left? That I do remember. And I fell asleep down there. But I cant remember anything after that. Which means you don't have any recollection of how you got out of the well? None at all. There is a gap in my memory. Creta Kano held up both index fingers, about eight inches apart. How much time that was supposed to represent I had no idea.

I don't suppose you remember what you did with the rope ladder, either. Its gone, you know.

I don't know anything about the ladder. I don't even remember if I climbed it to get out of the well.