Haruki Murakami - Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage

“After I saw you last time I’ve really been thinking about things,” Sara said, sipping the tea that rounded out her meal. “About your four friends in high school. About that beautiful community, and your affection for each other.”

Tsukuru gave a small nod, and waited for her to go on.

“I find the story of your group really intriguing. I guess because I’ve never experienced anything like that myself.”

“Maybe it would have been for the best if I never had, either,” Tsukuru said.

“Because you ended up getting hurt?”

He nodded.

“I understand how you feel,” Sara said, with her eyes narrowed. “But even if it ended badly, and you were hurt, I think it was a good thing for you to have met them. It’s not very often that people become that close. And when you think of five people having that sort of connection, well, it’s nothing short of miraculous.”

“I agree. It was kind of a miracle. And I do think it was a good thing for me that it happened,” Tsukuru said. “But that made the shock all the worse when the connection was gone—or snatched from me, I should say. The feeling of loss, the isolation…. Those words don’t come even close to expressing how awful it felt.”

“But more than sixteen years have passed. You’re an adult now, in your late thirties. The pain might have been terrible back then, but isn’t it time to finally get over it?”

“Get over it,” Tsukuru repeated. “What exactly do you mean?”

Sara rested her hands on the table, spreading her ten fingers apart slightly. She wore a ring on the little finger of her left hand, with a small, almond-shaped jewel. She gazed at the ring for a while, then looked up.

“I get the feeling that the time has come for you to find out why you were cut off, or had to be cut off, so abruptly, by those friends of yours.”

Tsukuru was about to drink the rest of his coffee, but he noticed his cup was empty and laid it back down on the saucer. The cup struck the saucer with an unexpectedly loud clatter. The waiter, in response to the noise, hurried over and refilled their glasses with ice water.

Tsukuru waited until the waiter left before he spoke.

“Like I told you, I want to put it all out of my mind. I’ve managed to slowly close up the wound and, somehow, conquer the pain. It took a long time. Now that the wound is closed, why gouge it open again?”

“I understand, but maybe it only appears, from the outside, that the wound is closed.” Sara gazed into his eyes and spoke quietly. “Maybe inside the wound, under the scab, the blood is still silently flowing. Haven’t you ever thought that?”

Tsukuru pondered this, but he had no good reply.

“Can you tell me the full names of those four people? And the name of your high school, the year you graduated, the colleges they attended, and their addresses the last time you were in touch?”

“What are you planning to do with that information?”

“I want to find out as much as I can about where they are now, what they’re doing.”

Tsukuru’s breathing suddenly grew shallow. He picked up his glass and gulped down some water. “What for?”

“So you can meet them, talk with them. So they can explain to you why they abandoned you.”

“But what if I say I don’t want to?”

She turned her hands over on the table, palms up.

She continued to look at Tsukuru directly. Her eyes never broke their gaze.

“Can I be totally candid?” Sara asked.

“Of course.”

“It’s not easy to say this.”

“I want to know what you’re thinking, so please, say what’s on your mind.”

“The last time we met, I told you I didn’t want to go back to your place. You remember that? Do you know why I said it?”

Tsukuru shook his head.

“I think you’re a good person, and I really like you. Not just as a friend,” Sara said, and paused. “But I think you have—some kind of unresolved emotional issues.”

Tsukuru looked at her silently.

“This part is a little hard to talk about. It’s hard to express, is what I mean. If I put it into words, it sounds oversimplified. I can’t explain it reasonably, or logically. It’s more of an intuitive thing.”

“I trust your intuition,” Tsukuru said.

Sara bit her lip lightly and looked off, as if measuring a distance, and then spoke. “When we made love, it felt like you were somewhere else. Somewhere apart from the two of us in bed. You were very gentle, and it was wonderful, but still….”

Tsukuru lifted the empty coffee cup again, wrapping it in both hands. He replaced it on the saucer, this time without making a sound.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “The whole time I was only thinking of you. I don’t remember being elsewhere. Truthfully, I don’t think there was any way I could have thought of anything but you.”

“Maybe. Maybe you were just thinking about me. If you say so, I believe you. But there was something else on your mind. At least I sensed a sort of distance between us. Maybe it’s something only a woman can pick up on. Anyway, what I want you to know is that I can’t continue a relationship like that for very long, even if I’m very fond of you. I’m more possessive, more straightforward than I might seem. If we’re going to have a serious relationship, I don’t want whatever it is to come between us. This unidentifiable something . Do you know what I’m saying?”

“That you don’t want to see me anymore?”

“No, that’s not it,” she said. “I’m fine seeing you and talking like this. I enjoy it a lot. But I don’t want to go back to your place.”

“You mean you can’t make love with me?”

“I can’t,” Sara said bluntly.

“Because I have some—emotional issues?”

“That’s right. You have some problems you’re carrying around, some things that might go much deeper than you realize. But I think they’re the kind of problems you can overcome, if you really make up your mind to do so. Just like you’d set about repairing a defect in a station. To do that, though, you need to collect the necessary data, draw up an accurate blueprint, create a detailed work schedule. Above all, you need to identify your priorities.”

“And to do that, I need to see those four people again and talk with them. Is that what you’re saying?”

She nodded. “You need to come face-to-face with the past, not as some naive, easily wounded boy, but as a grown-up, independent professional. Not to see what you want to see, but what you must see. Otherwise you’ll carry around that baggage for the rest of your life. That’s why I want you to tell me the names of your four friends. I’ll start by finding out where they are now.”

“How will you do that?”

Sara shook her head in amazement. “You graduated from engineering school, but you don’t use the Internet? Haven’t you ever heard of Google or Facebook?”

“I use the Internet at work, sure. And I’m familiar with Google and Facebook. But I hardly ever use them. I’m just not interested.”

“Then leave it to me. That’s what I’m good at,” Sara said.

After dinner they walked to Shibuya. It was a pleasant evening, near the end of spring, and the large, yellow moon was covered in mist. There was a hint of moisture in the air. The hem of Sara’s dress fluttered prettily next to him in the breeze. As he walked, Tsukuru pictured the body underneath those clothes. He thought about making love to her again, and as he pictured this, he felt his penis start to stiffen. He had no problem with feeling those desires—they were, after all, the natural urges and cravings of a healthy adult male. But maybe at the core, at the very root—as Sara had suggested—lay something illogical, something twisted. He couldn’t really say. The more he thought about the boundary between the conscious and the unconscious, the less certain he became of his own identity.