Haruki Murakami - Hear the Wind Sing

However, like a piece of tracing paper slipping away, everything had, little by little, become irreparably different than it had been in the past.

It took us a half hour to walk back to her apartment.

It was a pleasant-feeling night, and after she finished crying, she was frighteningly cheerful. On the way home, we popped into a few stores and shopped intently for things we didn’t really need. Things like strawberry-scented toothpaste and gaudy beach towels, some kind of puzzle made in Denmark, six ballpoint pens, clutching these things we walked uphill, occasionally pausing to look back towards the harbor.

“Hey, your car’s still parked over there, yeah?”

“I’ll go back and get it later.”

“Would you mind waiting until tomorrow?”

“I don’t mind.”

And then we took our time walking the rest of the way.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

She was looking at the pavement on the street below as she said this.

I nodded.

“But you won’t be able to shine your dad’s shoes…”

“He should shine them himself once in a while.”

“Think he’ll do it, himself?”

“Yeah, he’s a man of integrity.”

It was a quiet night.

She turned over slowly in her sleep, pushing her nose against my right shoulder.

“I’m cold.”

“You’re cold? It’s eighty-six degrees!”

“I don’t know, but I’m cold.”

I grabbed the blanket that had been kicked down past our feet and pulled it up to our necks and then held her. Her body was rattling a little as she shook ever so slightly.

“Are you feeling well?”

She shook her head a little.

“I’m scared.”

“Of?”

“Everything. You’re not scared?”

“Not particularly.”

She was silent. It was a silence as if she were taking my answer by its hand to confirm its existence.

“You want to have sex with me?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t today.”

Still embracing her, I nodded, saying nothing.

“I just had the operation.”

“A baby?”

“Yes.”

She lessened the pressure with which she was moving her hand around on my back, using her fingers to make small circles behind my shoulders over and over again.

“It’s strange, I don’t remember a thing.”

“Yeah?”

“The man. I’ve completely forgotten him. I can’t even remember his face.”

I patted her hair with my palm.

“I felt like I could really fall for him. For just a short instant…you ever fall in love with someone?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you remember her face?”

I tried to imagine the faces of the three girls from before, but it was strange, I couldn’t bring even one of them clearly into mind.

“Nope,” I said.

“Strange. Why do you think that is?”

“Probably because that would be too easy.”

With the side of her face pressed to my chest, she nodded silently a few times.

“You know, if you really want to do it, we can probably do something else…”

“Nah, don’t worry about it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

She once again increased the pressure behind the hand she was moving around on my back. I could feel her breasts on the center of my stomach. I really wanted to drink a beer.

“Starting quite a few years back, I’ve failed at lots of things.”

“How many years, do you think?”

“Twelve, thirteen…the year my father got sick. I don’t remember a single thing before that. Just a bunch of bad stuff. There’s always an unlucky wind blowing above my head.”

“The winds can change direction.”

“You really think so?”

“It’s gotta happen sometime.”

She was quiet for a moment. In the midst of the dryness of that desert-like silence, she took a second to soak up my words, leaving only bitterness in her mouth.

“I’ve tried many times to believe that, but it’s never worked out. I’ve tried to get close to people, tried to be more patient, but…”

Without saying another word, we put our arms around each other. She put her head on my chest, her lips nestled lightly on my nipple and was still for a lone time, as if asleep.

For a long time, a really long time, she was silent. Half-dozing, I gazed up at the dark ceiling.

“Mom…” she murmured softly, as if in a dream. She was sleeping.

Hey, how’s it going? This is Radio NEB’s Pop Music Requests. Saturday night has come around once again. For the next two hours, we’ve got lots of great music for you to listen to. By the way, summer is drawing to a close. How was it? Did you have a good summer?

Today, before I start playing records, I’d like to tell you about this letter I received. I’d like to read it for you. Here’s the letter:

How are you?

I enjoy listening to your program every week. Time goes by quickly; this fall will mark my third year of living in this hospital.

Time really does go by before you know it. Of course, gazing at a little bit of the scenery from the window of my air-conditioned hospital room, the change of the seasons holds little meaning for me, but still, when one season ends, another comes calling, and that really does make my heart dance.

I’m seventeen now, for these last three years I’ve been unable to read a book, unable to watch television, unable to walk…no, I’m unable to rise from bed, and it’s gotten to the point where I can’t even shift the positions in my sleep. My sister, visiting me, is the one kind enough to write this letter for me. She stopped going to college so she could look after me. Of course, I’m incredibly grateful to her. What I’ve learned during my three years of lying in this hospital bed is that even from whatever miserable experience you might have, there is something to be learned, and it’s because of this that I can find the will to keep on living.

My illness appears to be related to nerve damage in my spinal cord. It’s a terribly debilitating disease, but there is, of course, a chance of recovery. It might only be three percent…but my doctor (a wonderful person) gave me an example illustrating the rate of recovery from my illness. The way he explained it, the odds are longer than a pitcher throwing a no-hit, no-run game against the Giants, but not quite as unlikely as a complete shutout.

Sometimes, when I think I’m never going to recover, I get really scared. So scared I want to scream out.

I feel like I’m going to spend my whole life like this, like a stone, lying on my back staring at the ceiling, unable to read a book, unable to walk in the wind, unable to be loved by anyone, growing old here for decades and decades, and then die here quietly, I think of this and I just can’t stand it and I get so sad. When I wake up at 3am in the middle of the night, I feel like I can hear the bones in my spine dissolving. In reality, that’s probably what’s happening. I won’t say any more about that unpleasant business. So, like my sister coming here every day, hundreds of times over, to encourage me, I’m going to try to only think positive thoughts. And I’ll be able to fall sound asleep at night. Because the worst thoughts usually strike in the dead of night. From my hospital window, I can see the harbor. Every morning, I get out of bed and walk to the harbor and take deep breaths of the ocean air…at least, I imagine that I do. If I could do this just once, just one time, I think I could understand what the world is all about. I believe that. And if I could comprehend just that little bit, I think I’d even be able to endure spending the rest of my life in this bed. Goodbye. Take care.

The letter is unsigned.